India’s Sexism: A Deep-Rooted Dance of Power and Progress

 

India’s Sexism: A Deep-Rooted Dance of Power and Progress

India dazzles — 1.4 billion people, a kaleidoscope of cultures, and a global tech titan. Yet beneath the shimmer lies a shadow: sexism, woven into its fabric through centuries of patriarchy, religion, and social norms. It’s not just overt violence — think rape cases grabbing headlines — but the quieter, pervasive biases that shape daily life. From rural dowry deaths to urban boardroom snubs, sexism in India is a hydra, multi-headed and stubborn. Let’s unpack its origins, how it plays out, and where change is stirring.

The Historical Backbone: Patriarchy’s Long Game

Sexism in India didn’t spring up overnight. The Vedic era (1500 BCE) praised goddesses — Saraswati, Durga — yet relegated women to domesticity in texts like the Manusmriti, which declared a woman’s duty as obedience to her father, husband, then son. By medieval times, practices like sati (widow immolation) and purdah (seclusion) cemented control over women’s bodies and agency. The Mughal era added harems; colonial British rule outlawed sati (1829) but reinforced “civilizing” gender norms — think Victorian modesty over Indian fluidity.

Fast forward: 70% of Indians still see tradition as sacred (Pew, 2021), and that reverence often props up old power structures. Dowry, banned in 1961, persists — 95% of rural marriages involve it (World Bank, 2022). History’s echo lingers — sexism isn’t an anomaly; it’s an inheritance.

Everyday Sexism: From Homes to Streets

In homes, it’s subtle but steel-clad. Nine in ten Indians agree a wife must obey her husband (Pew, 2022) — a norm cutting across class and caste. Sons inherit; daughters marry out, often with dowry baggage — 8,233 deaths reported in 2012 alone (NCRB). Women spend six times more hours on unpaid chores than men (Oxfam, 2023), a burden urban “modernity” barely dents.

On streets, it’s louder — catcalls, groping, or worse. One in five women face frequent public harassment (Psychological Science, 2024); 24,923 rapes were reported in 2012 (NCRB), though untold numbers stay silent. The 2012 Delhi gang rape — Nirbhaya — sparked outrage, yet 428,278 crimes against women hit a record in 2021 (NCRB). Why? Stigma, police apathy (98% of rapists known to victims), and a culture where 40% of women and 38% of men justify spousal abuse (NFHS-5).

Workplaces mirror this. Tech, India’s pride (36% female workforce, NASSCOM), still dishes out microaggressions — cake-cutting falls to women, heels draw snark (Rest of World, 2022). The pay gap yawns — 38% in IT (Monster, 2016) — and glass ceilings loom. Only 25% of women are in formal jobs (UNICEF), hemmed by “family duty.”

Cultural Fuel: Myths and Media

Sexism feeds on narratives. Benevolent sexism — “women are pure, needing protection” — sounds sweet but shackles. A 2024 study (Psychological Science) found it cuts tolerance for street harassment but boosts acceptance of domestic violence — 92% of Indians hold at least one bias against women’s autonomy (UNDP, 2023). Hostile sexism — “women seek power over men” — justifies outright aggression.

Bollywood doesn’t help. Heroines twirl around heroes; item songs objectify. TV soaps glorify submissive bahus (daughters-in-law). Ads peddle fairness creams — 70% of women feel pressured to lighten skin (Nielsen, 2022) — tying worth to looks. Yet cracks show: films like Pink (2016) and Thappad (2020) call out consent and abuse.

Regional Riffs: Not One India

Sexism shifts by region. Kerala boasts 96% female literacy (NFHS-5) and matrilineal traces, yet 25% of its youth are jobless (CMIE, 2023) — education doesn’t equal freedom. Tamil Nadu’s Dravidian pride resists Hindi patriarchy, but domestic violence persists. The Northeast — Assam, Meghalaya — offers tribal autonomy (99% female decision-making, Banerjee, 2015), yet 52% see widespread gender bias (Pew, 2022). Hindi Belt states like Uttar Pradesh lag — 6% report discrimination (Pew), but dowry and honor killings spike (NCRB).

The Pushback: Laws, Voices, Limits

India fights back. The Constitution guarantees equality (Article 14); laws ban dowry, sati, sex-selective abortion. Post-Nirbhaya, rape penalties stiffened — minimum seven years, up to life (2013). Beti Bachao, Beti Padhao (Save the Girl, Educate the Girl) cut female feticide, nudging the sex ratio to 1,020 women per 1,000 men (NFHS-5, 2021).

Women rise — Indira Gandhi ruled in 1966; today, 55% say women match men as leaders (Pew, 2022). The #MeToo wave hit India in 2018 — journalists, actors named abusers. X buzzes with feminist calls; NGOs like Survival Instincts teach self-defense. Yet, gaps yawn — 16% of women report personal discrimination (Pew, 2020), and India ranks 135th in global gender parity (WEF, 2023). Laws falter without cultural shift.

Why It Sticks, Where It’s Cracking

Sexism endures because it’s systemic — patriarchy’s a safety net for power. Poverty (20% below $2.15/day, World Bank) and illiteracy (26% of women, NFHS-5) trap millions. Religion — Hindu, Muslim, Sikh — can sanctify norms; 63% prioritize sons for rites (Pew, 2022). But cracks widen — urban women delay marriage (35% single at 25–34, NFHS-5), tech amplifies voices, and education chips at biases.

The Road Ahead

India’s sexism is a paradox — progress and prejudice tangled tight. It’s not just Delhi’s rapes or Bihar’s dowries; it’s the auntie tsk-ing a girl’s shorts, the boss bypassing her promotion. Change needs more — men rethinking “protection,” media ditching tropes, laws biting harder. India’s not alone — global sexism simmers — but its scale and stakes (half a billion women) make it urgent. The dance isn’t over; the rhythm’s just shifting.

The Misadventure of Indian Outrage: From Blaming Girls to Battling Reservations

 

The Misadventure of Indian Outrage: From Blaming Girls to Battling Reservations

India is a land of passion. From cricket matches to political debates, we wear our emotions on our sleeves. But there’s a flip side to this fervor: our outrage often misses the mark. Instead of channeling anger toward systemic failures or root causes, we find ourselves pointing fingers at the wrong targets — girls, marginalized communities, or anyone who dares to challenge the status quo. Let’s unpack this phenomenon, from victim-blaming to the endless reservation debate, and ask: why are we so good at being mad about the wrong things?

The Girl Who Wore Jeans

It’s a scene we’ve seen too often. A woman is harassed, assaulted, or worse, and the public discourse erupts — not against the perpetrator, but against her. “Why was she out so late?” “What was she wearing?” “She should’ve known better.” In 2012, after the horrific Nirbhaya case shook the nation, some voices still found a way to question her decision to be out at night. More recently, social media threads explode with sanctimonious takes every time a woman’s “choices” don’t align with an invisible rulebook.

This isn’t just a rural mindset or a relic of the past — it’s a pervasive reflex. The outrage zeroes in on the victim, as if her behavior is the problem, not the crime itself. Meanwhile, the deeper issues — patriarchy, lack of safety infrastructure, or a culture that normalizes male entitlement — get a free pass. It’s easier to blame a girl in jeans than to dismantle a system that fails her.

The Reservation Rage

Then there’s the reservation debate, a lightning rod for Indian outrage like no other. Every time a new policy tweak or court ruling surfaces, a section of society — often the urban, upper-caste middle class — erupts. “Merit is dead!” they cry. “Why should I lose my seat to someone less qualified?” Social media amplifies this anger, with memes and rants painting reservation as the ultimate injustice.

But let’s step back. Reservation isn’t a random handout — it’s a response to centuries of exclusion, a tool to level a playing field that was never equal. The outrage rarely grapples with this history or the data: a 2021 study showed that Scheduled Castes and Tribes still lag far behind in access to education and jobs, despite decades of affirmative action. Instead, the anger fixates on the individual who “took my spot,” not the structural inequalities that made reservation necessary — or the fact that elite institutions still remain dominated by privileged groups.

It’s a classic misdirection. The real culprits — underfunded schools, caste-based discrimination, or a job market that favors connections over talent — escape scrutiny. Reservation becomes the scapegoat, and the outrage feels righteous but solves nothing.

The Mob That Misses the Point

This pattern repeats across issues. When a celebrity says something controversial, we burn their effigies instead of debating their ideas. When a farmer protests, we call him a traitor instead of asking why he’s desperate enough to block a highway. When a politician fails us, we blame the voters instead of the system that props up mediocrity.

Indian outrage loves a villain. It’s personal, visceral, and immediate. But it’s also lazy. It latches onto the nearest target — a girl, a caste, a community — rather than the harder, messier work of questioning power structures or holding the right people accountable. Social media doesn’t help; it rewards hot takes over nuance, amplifying the loudest, angriest voices.

Why Do We Do This?

Part of it is cultural. We’re a society that thrives on hierarchy and moral policing — whether it’s elders dictating “appropriate” behavior or pundits deciding who’s worthy of opportunity. Part of it is psychological: outrage feels good. It’s cathartic to blame someone tangible rather than wrestle with abstract, systemic flaws. And part of it is practical — we’re stretched thin, juggling daily struggles, so we lash out at what’s in front of us instead of what’s behind the curtain.

But there’s a cost. Misplaced anger keeps us stuck. It divides us — men against women, caste against caste, “merit” against “quota” — while the real problems fester. Every time we blame a girl for her skirt or a student for his caste certificate, we let the bigger culprits off the hook.

A Better Kind of Outrage

So how do we fix this? It starts with pausing. Before we tweet, argue, or judge, we could ask: Who’s really at fault here? What’s the bigger picture? Outrage isn’t the problem — it’s a powerful force. But it needs aim. Imagine if we turned it toward underfunded schools instead of reserved seats, or toward rapists instead of their victims. Imagine if we got mad at corruption, not the whistleblower.

India’s passion is a gift. It’s fueled movements, toppled tyrants, and built a democracy against all odds. But it’s time we wield it with purpose. The next time we feel that familiar surge of anger, let’s aim it where it belongs — not at the powerless, but at the systems that keep them there. That’s an outrage worth having.

Misdirection by Godi Media: How India’s Lapdog Press Skews the Narrative

 

Misdirection by Godi Media: How India’s Lapdog Press Skews the Narrative

In India, the term “Godi Media” — coined by NDTV journalist Ravish Kumar — has become shorthand for news outlets accused of sitting in the lap of power, particularly the ruling Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) government. Literally meaning “lap media,” it’s a biting critique of a press that’s traded its watchdog role for one of a loyal lapdog. But beyond bias, Godi Media’s real sleight of hand lies in misdirection — flooding airwaves and headlines with noise to drown out what matters. From sensationalist distractions to burying inconvenient truths, this orchestrated chaos keeps the public looking the wrong way. Let’s dive into how it works, with some hard numbers to back it up.

The Art of Distraction

Picture this: in September 2024, as the rupee hit a historic low of 83.99 against the dollar and the stock market saw a brutal crash — wiping out ₹10 lakh crore in investor wealth in a single day — prime-time TV was busy elsewhere. A post on X highlighted a telling pattern from ANI, a major news agency often linked to Godi Media: 127 tweets on fake laddu controversies, 432 on comedian Samay Raina’s latest spat, and just one on the rupee’s plunge. The stock market crash? Also one tweet. Meanwhile, a stampede at Delhi’s Anand Vihar station killed 30 people — barely a blip on the radar with one mention.

This isn’t random. It’s a playbook. When economic distress or governance failures loom large, Godi Media pivots to trivia — celebrity weddings, temple disputes, or manufactured outrage. In 2020, during the peak of the COVID-19 crisis, as migrant workers trekked hundreds of kilometers amid a botched lockdown, channels like Republic TV and Zee News fixated on actor Sushant Singh Rajput’s death. For weeks, conspiracy theories about “gaming jihad” or “love jihad” dominated, while oxygen shortages and mass cremations got sidelined. The News Broadcasting & Digital Standards Authority (NBDSA) later fined outlets like Sudarshan News for Islamophobic rants, but the damage was done — attention diverted, accountability dodged.

Cooking the Numbers

Misdirection isn’t just about what’s covered; it’s about what’s twisted. Take the BJP’s economic claims. In 2019, PM Narendra Modi boasted of attracting $130 billion in foreign direct investment (FDI) since 2014. Fact-checks later pegged it at $101.72 billion — impressive, but a far cry from the hype. Godi Media ran with the inflated figure, rarely correcting the record. Similarly, the claim of “95% rural electrification” by 2018 was trumpeted loudly — until data showed it counted a village as “electrified” if just 10% of its homes had power. The real story? Millions still in the dark, but the narrative had already moved on.

During the 2024 elections, exit polls on channels like India Today and Times Now predicted a BJP landslide — some claiming over 400 seats for the NDA. The reality? 293 seats, a sharp drop from 353 in 2019. Political strategist Yogendra Yadav, on BBC Hindi, called it “crowd manipulation” by Godi Media, arguing that honest reporting might’ve seen the BJP dip below 200. The inflated polls weren’t just wrong — they shaped perceptions, muting dissent until the ballots proved otherwise.

The Farmer Protests: A Case Study

The 2020–2021 farmer protests are a masterclass in misdirection. Over 700 farmers died during the year-long agitation against three farm laws, facing barricades, water cannons, and even a minister’s son mowing down protesters. Godi Media’s response? Label them “Khalistani terrorists” or “greedy middlemen.” A Supreme Court panel later found 84% of farmer organizations supported the laws’ intent — but that nuance never made the headlines. Instead, channels like Aaj Tak and Republic Bharat spun tales of foreign conspiracies, while nails on roads and bloodied heads were brushed off as “necessary measures.” The laws were repealed, but not before Godi Media had shifted focus to the next shiny object.

Why It Works — and Who Pays?

This isn’t chaos by accident. Media houses rake in big bucks from government ads — ₹6,491 crore over eight years (2014–2022), per RTI data cited on X. Corporate ownership amplifies the tilt: Reliance Industries owns CNN-News18, while The Times Group runs Times Now. When ad revenue and political favor align, truth becomes negotiable. A 2023 study of six listed news companies showed their revenues stagnated (₹6,325 crore in 2014 to ₹6,691 crore in 2023), yet profits tanked from ₹761 crore to ₹254 crore. Adjusted for inflation, they’ve shrunk — suggesting propaganda doesn’t even pay well. So why persist? Power, not profit, seems the prize.

India’s press freedom rank reflects the toll: 150th out of 180 in the 2024 World Press Freedom Index, down from 142nd in 2019. Reporters Without Borders notes a “concerted effort to control discourse,” with self-censorship and harassment silencing dissent. Godi Media doesn’t just misdirect — it erodes trust. During the farmer protests, reporters from these outlets were chased off sites, a rare rebuke from a public fed up with spin.

Seeing Through the Smoke

Misdirection thrives in noise, but it’s not invincible. The rise of independent outlets like The Wire or Scroll.in, alongside citizen media on X, offers a counterpoint — raw, unfiltered, and closer to the ground. Yet, the average viewer, scrolling past 432 tweets on a comedian’s gaffe, might miss them. The fix isn’t easy: media literacy, like FactShala’s grassroots efforts, helps, but it’s a slow burn against a firehose of distortion.

Godi Media’s game is simple — keep us distracted, divided, and doubting. The rupee falls, the market bleeds, the dead pile up, but look over here: a laddu scandal! It’s misdirection with a body count, and the longer we fall for it, the harder it gets to see what’s really at stake. Time to change the channel.

NITI Aayog vs. Planning Commission: A Tale of Bias, Misdirection, and Missed Opportunities

 

NITI Aayog vs. Planning Commission: A Tale of Bias, Misdirection, and Missed Opportunities

When NITI Aayog replaced the Planning Commission in 2015, it was pitched as a bold reboot — swapping centralized control for cooperative federalism, rigid five-year plans for flexible policy advice. A decade later, the shift feels less like evolution and more like a pivot with trade-offs. Both institutions have shaped India’s development, but their approaches, powers, and pitfalls — especially around bias and misdirection — reveal stark contrasts. Let’s break it down with data and evidence.

Structure: Power vs. Persuasion

The Planning Commission, born in 1950, was a heavyweight. Chaired by the Prime Minister, it included a Deputy Chairperson, full-time members, and a robust secretariat, wielding authority to design and fund five-year plans. It allocated resources — ₹20.7 lakh crore across 12 plans from 1951 to 2012, per adjusted 2011–12 prices — directly influencing state budgets. States had a say via the National Development Council (NDC), where Chief Ministers could negotiate allocations, though the Centre often held sway.

NITI Aayog, launched on January 1, 2015, is leaner and toothless by design. Also chaired by the PM, it includes a Vice-Chairperson (currently Suman Bery), full-time members, and state CMs in its Governing Council. But unlike its predecessor, it has no financial muscle — its budget peaked at ₹339 crore in 2023–24, a speck against the Planning Commission’s heft. It advises, not mandates, relying on persuasion over power. Critics argue this makes it a cheerleader for central agendas, not a partner to states.

Function: Plans vs. Projections

The Planning Commission’s hallmark was its five-year plans, setting ambitious targets — like reducing poverty from 45% in 1994 to 27% by 2007 (Tendulkar methodology) — and backing them with funds. It wasn’t flawless: the 11th Plan (2007–12) aimed for 9% GDP growth but hit 7.9%, per World Bank data, hampered by global recession and domestic bottlenecks. Yet its data-driven approach, rooted in NSSO surveys and state inputs, gave it credibility, even if execution lagged.

NITI Aayog ditched plans for indices and vision documents — think SDG India Index or the 2017 “India@75” roadmap. Its 2024 poverty claim, asserting a drop from 29.17% in 2013–14 to 11.28% in 2022–23 (lifting 24.82 crore people), showcases its style: bold projections over concrete action. Unlike the Planning Commission’s reliance on consumption surveys, NITI leans on the Multidimensional Poverty Index (MPI) and NFHS data, projecting gains through COVID-19 disruptions despite halted NFHS-5 surveys in 22 states and a slashed education budget (2.9% of GDP in 2023, per UNESCO). This optimism feels like misdirection when 80 crore Indians still need free rations.

Bias: Centralized Control vs. Political Alignment

The Planning Commission wasn’t immune to bias. Its top-down model favored Congress-ruled states during its heyday — Maharashtra and Andhra Pradesh often bagged bigger shares in the 1970s and 80s, per NDC records. Yet it had checks: the NDC forced dialogue, and its funding power gave states leverage to push back. A 2011 CAG audit criticized its “one-size-fits-all” approach, but it rarely hid inconvenient data — like the 37% poverty rate in 2011–12.

NITI Aayog’s bias tilts differently. Lacking allocation authority, it’s accused of amplifying BJP priorities. The 2024 Governing Council boycott by seven opposition-ruled states (Tamil Nadu, Kerala, etc.) over Budget snubs highlights this: central scheme funds disproportionately flow to BJP states — Uttar Pradesh got ₹1.79 lakh crore for highways (2014–2023), while Kerala lagged. NITI’s Health Index ranks states competitively but glosses over resource gaps — Kerala funds 70% of its top-ranked health system, while poorer BJP states lean on central aid. Its reliance on non-official sources (27 of 94 footnotes in a 2018 water report from media/blogs) further fuels perceptions of narrative-driven spin.

Misdirection: Underselling vs. Overselling

The Planning Commission’s misdirection was subtle — underselling failures to protect political egos. The 8th Plan (1992–97) targeted 5.6% growth but hit 6.8%, yet rural poverty lingered at 44% (1993–94), per NSSO data, masked by urban gains. It rarely hyped unverified wins, sticking to measurable (if flawed) outcomes.

NITI Aayog excels at overselling. Its “95% rural electrification” claim in 2018 counted villages with 10% household coverage — a 2021 CAG audit found 2.5 million homes still dark. The Global Innovation Index jump (81st in 2015 to 40th in 2022) is touted as a win, but R&D spending stagnates at 0.7% of GDP (World Bank), far below China’s 2.4%. NITI’s rosy reports distract from structural woes — 22% child stunting in 2023 (UNICEF) contradicts its poverty “miracle.”

Impact: Legacy vs. Limelight

The Planning Commission built dams, schools, and industries — its irrigation push lifted coverage from 17% of farmland in 1951 to 45% by 2011, per Ministry of Agriculture data. Its clout came at a cost: bureaucratic inertia and a Delhi-centric lens. NITI Aayog’s legacy is less tangible — indices and advisories don’t fill potholes. India’s press freedom rank (150th in 2024) and rising Gini coefficient (35.7 in 2021) suggest its cheerleading hasn’t tackled inequality or accountability.

The Verdict

The Planning Commission was a flawed giant — biased, but grounded; directive, but deliverable. NITI Aayog is a nimble narrator — flexible, but flimsy; cooperative in name, but often a megaphone for power. One misdirected through silence, the other through hype. India needs a hybrid: NITI’s agility with the Commission’s authority, minus the politics. Until then, both remind us — data can inform, but intent decides what we see.

CAG Audits Unveiled: Glaring Issues from Recent Years in India

 

CAG Audits Unveiled: Glaring Issues from Recent Years in India

The Comptroller and Auditor General (CAG) of India is often called the “guardian of the public purse,” tasked with auditing government finances to ensure accountability and transparency. In recent years, its reports have exposed glaring issues — financial mismanagement, procedural lapses, and systemic inefficiencies — that raise tough questions about governance. From infrastructure delays to questionable spending, here’s a dive into some standout CAG findings since 2020, backed by data and real-world impact.

Bharatmala Pariyojana: Roads to Nowhere?

The ambitious Bharatmala Pariyojana, launched in 2017 to build 34,800 km of highways, hit a pothole in the CAG’s 2023 audit (Report №9 of 2023). The report flagged cost overruns and delays in 104 sampled projects. Originally pegged at ₹5.35 lakh crore, costs ballooned by 18% in some stretches, with ₹2,23,000 crore spent by March 2022 against sluggish progress — only 34% of awarded projects completed. The CAG pointed to poor planning: 66 projects worth ₹1.23 lakh crore were greenlit without finalized alignments or detailed project reports (DPRs), risking waste. In Uttar Pradesh, ₹1,200 crore was spent on a highway segment later abandoned due to land disputes. The takeaway? Haste in approvals outpaced execution, leaving taxpayers footing the bill for half-built roads.

Ayushman Bharat: Healthcare Promises, Delivery Gaps

The CAG’s 2023 performance audit of Ayushman Bharat (Report №8 of 2023) uncovered a healthcare scheme riddled with cracks. Meant to provide ₹5 lakh per family annually to 10 crore households, it treated 4.5 crore patients by 2022 — but at what cost? The audit found ₹6.47 crore paid for treatments of 3,446 patients already listed as “dead” in the system, hinting at fraud or data errors. In Tamil Nadu, ₹7.5 crore was disbursed to private hospitals without verifying patient eligibility. Worse, 88,760 beneficiaries held invalid IDs, including mobile numbers like “9999999999.” The CAG slammed lax oversight and delayed insurer payments — hospitals waited up to 200 days — jeopardizing care quality. A flagship scheme tripped by sloppy execution.

Coal Block Allocation: Echoes of Past Scandals

Remember the 2012 Coalgate uproar? The CAG’s 2022 audit (Report №10 of 2022) suggests lessons weren’t fully learned. It examined 31 coal blocks allocated between 2014 and 2021 and found ₹1,176 crore in undue benefits to private firms due to lax monitoring. In Jharkhand, a lessee extracted 1.2 million tonnes beyond approved limits, dodging ₹87 crore in penalties. The audit also flagged delays: only 11 of 31 blocks were operational by 2021, despite auctions promising a coal-starved nation swift output. India imported 209 million tonnes of coal in 2022–23 (Ministry of Coal data), costing ₹2.6 lakh crore — money that could’ve stayed home with better oversight. History repeating itself, one under-audited block at a time.

Railways’ Dedicated Freight Corridor: Freight on Hold

The Dedicated Freight Corridor (DFC), a ₹81,459 crore project to revolutionize rail logistics, stumbled under CAG scrutiny in 2022 (Report №6 of 2022). By March 2021, only 628 km of the 2,843-km target was operational — 17 years after inception. Costs soared 85% above estimates, with ₹13,000 crore in loans piling up as interest due to delays. The CAG highlighted land acquisition snarls: 1,200 hectares remained disputed, stalling 40% of the Eastern Corridor. Meanwhile, freight traffic grew just 3% annually against a 10% target. A lifeline for industry became a cautionary tale of mismanagement, with taxpayers bearing the burden of stalled ambition.

Delhi’s Liquor Excise Mess

In 2022, the CAG turned its lens on Delhi’s 2021–22 excise policy (Report №3 of 2022), sparking political firestorms. The audit found ₹144 crore in irregular refunds to liquor licensees after the policy’s abrupt rollback, lacking documentation. Worse, ₹1,873 crore in potential revenue was lost due to unadjusted license fees and unverified sales data. The AAP government’s push for private retail — hyped as a revenue booster — backfired, with 25% of liquor vends shutting mid-year. The CAG criticized opaque decision-making and weak enforcement, turning a reform into a fiscal fiasco. Public funds, it seems, drowned in the liquor policy’s chaos.

State PSUs: Accountability in Limbo

A recurring CAG theme is the opacity of state public sector undertakings (PSUs). In 2023, Report №1 of 2023 noted 60+ PSUs across states hadn’t submitted financial statements for audits — some pending since 2018. In Telangana, 22 PSUs owed ₹1,200 crore in dues, untracked due to delayed filings. The CAG estimated a cumulative loss of ₹1.5 lakh crore across 1,017 PSUs nationwide by 2021–22, with 40% non-functional yet unliquidated. This isn’t just red tape — it’s a black hole swallowing public money, shielded from scrutiny.

The Bigger Picture

These audits paint a troubling pattern: ambitious projects undermined by poor planning, weak oversight, and questionable priorities. The CAG’s 2024 press releases highlight ongoing woes — ₹144.88 crore irregularly paid to Odisha’s private COVID hospitals (Report №14 of 2024) and ₹724 crore in unverified BharatNet spending (Report №11 of 2024). India’s press freedom rank (150th in 2024, Reporters Without Borders) and rising inequality (Gini coefficient at 35.7, World Bank 2021) amplify the stakes — unaccounted funds hit the vulnerable hardest.

Yet, the CAG’s role isn’t just to scold. Its reports, tabled in Parliament, fuel Public Accounts Committee (PAC) probes, sometimes spurring reform — like post-2G spectrum auction rules. The fix? Stronger pre-project vetting, real-time audits, and teeth for CAG recommendations. Until then, these glaring issues remind us: transparency isn’t a luxury — it’s a necessity.

These Maha Kumbhas have been happening a bit too frequently…

 

These Maha Kumbhas have been happening a bit too frequently…

A “Maha Kumbh” is something that should happen only once every 12 regular kumbhas (ie 144 years).

The 2001 Prayag Kumbh was labelled as a MahaKumbh.

Source https://web.archive.org/web/20250115130501/https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2001_Prayag_Kumbh_Mela

https://web.archive.org/web/20241204151708/https://www.johnnovis.com/2084773-the-2001-maha-kumbh-mela

https://web.archive.org/web/20240618050606/https://mcpix.com/the-2001-maha-kumbh-mela-allahabad-india

Ok, if 2001 was a year of the “Maha Kumbh” we wouldn’t have another till 2145, right?

WRONG.

The 2013 Kumbh was again marketed as “Maha Kumbh”

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2013_Prayag_Kumbh_Mela_stampede

https://web.archive.org/web/20250101173859/https://www.bbc.com/travel/article/20130116-india-hosts-the-worlds-biggest-gathering

This is what LA times wrote in 2013. https://www.latimes.com/world/la-xpm-2013-feb-07-la-fg-india-religion-festival-20130208-story.html

And now we have yet another “Maha Kumbh” in 2025? WTF!??

After some digging, I found out this (Source)

Chief Minister Yogi Adityanath said it was a matter of pride that the UNESCO had recognised the Kumbh as a world heritage. He promised that the State government would ensure that Kumbh 2019 is celebrated with grandeur. Claiming that there was “nothing half in the Sanatan Hindu culture”, the CM said that the Ardh Kumbh, held every six years, will be referred to as ‘Kumbh’ and the Kumbh, held every 12 years, as ‘Maha Kumbh’.

This explains the 2025 Maha Kumbh (which is just a regular 12yr Kumbh??) but what about the previous Maha Kumbhs (in 2013 and 2001)??? Which one is which? Is anyone really keeping a check?

These people are taking advantage of the fact that people forget after 12yrs…2037 might see another “Maha Kumbh” smh

Edit: Few days after publishing this story someone sent me this news clipping from 1954. I am speechless

No, Aryabhatta did not discover zero

No, Aryabhatta did not discover zero

Aryabhatta was born in 476CE.

Ancient Egyptians were using base 10 system in 1770 BCE. In one papyrus written around 1770 BC, a scribe recorded daily incomes and expenditures for the pharaoh’s court, using the nfr hieroglyph to indicate cases where the amount of a foodstuff received was exactly equal to the amount disbursed.

Around 400 BC, Babylonians started putting two wedge symbols(‘’) into the place where we would put zero.

The Olmecs (1200–500BC) claim to have invented zero, but the Maya created two zeros, one for duration, the other for dates. They developed a symbolic mathematical system, a complex script and the concept of the underworld, home to moisture, seeds and their decay, a place where contrary forces opposed one another.

By AD 150, Ptolemy, influenced by Hipparchus and the Babylonians, was using a symbol for zero in his work on mathematical astronomy called the Syntaxis Mathematica, also known as the Almagest. This Hellenistic zero was perhaps the earliest documented use of a numeral representing zero in the Old World.

Japanese records dated from the 18th century, describe how the 4th century BC Chinese counting rods system enabled one to perform decimal calculations. As noted in the Xiahou Yang Suanjing (425–468 AD), to multiply or divide a number by 10, 100, 1000, or 10000, all one needs to do, with rods on the counting board, is to move them forwards, or back, by 1, 2, 3, or 4 places. The rods gave the decimal representation of a number, with an empty space denoting zero.

Pingala (c. 3rd or 2nd century BC), a Sanskrit prosody scholar, used binary sequences, in the form of short and long syllables (the latter equal in length to two short syllables), to identify the possible valid Sanskrit meter, a notation similar to Morse code. Pingala used the Sanskrit word śūnya explicitly to refer to zero.