Author: Theur

It was a pretty long week and quite an eventful one. To start with, I had the (mis)fortune of watching The End of Oak Street. So much screaming and family squabbling—not to mention kids out of their heads, like venturing out into the dark to rescue their pet—all while dinosaurs are hounding you in your own neighbourhood. Anne Hathaway going berserk is probably my least favourite genre. Why is she always in blue in almost every frame? It seemed as though the costume designer couldn’t think of anything other than denim jackets and trousers to depict the movie’s 80s settings. And damn, those dinosaurs were so ugly. Jurassic Park fooled me! 

Interestingly, the movie has been getting positive critical reception in the West. One of my favourite critics dubs it “the scariest dinosaur film since the 1993 Steven Spielberg classic, period.” I also missed the allusion to the queer relationship between two characters. My bad. I was busy hammering out this review on my notes app. I’d rate this movie a bland 6/10 because it didn’t live upto my expectations, and certainly not after two consecutive nights of watching the Avengers’ Infinity War and Endgame. My mother remarked that it is perhaps time for Anne Hathaway to pack up her bags. 

Two days later, on a sultry Sunday afternoon, we decided to go to Royal China — the restaurant that served the best Chinese food in town. The Gandhis were regulars there. We didn’t decide to have our lunch there on a hunch; we had booked in advance. I wouldn’t be lying if I said every time I went there I hoped I would bump into that Indo-Italian prince, Rahul Gandhi. As we were gulping down some spoonfuls of egg fried rice, Sonia Gandhi walked in. My mother became visibly excited because here was our dream coming true. And then almost faintly, my mother murmured, “if only Rahul Gandhi too were there.” My father and  grandmother kept imploring my mother on phone to greet Mrs. Gandhi. We were unsure because we wondered if we would be perceived as overstepping and disturbing their private time. 

Just then, almost as if the universe had conspired to give us exactly what we wanted, Rahul Gandhi dashed inside in a slate-blue polo, looking as if he were walking into his second home. He sat next to his mother and the elderly couple accompanying her. We gasped for a second — we couldn’t believe our eyes. For the next couple of minutes, we forgot about the main course before us, mindlessly munching on whatever was within reach. For our attention had fully shifted to the man sitting just two tables away. He could see us and so could we. We couldn’t help but stare; every time our gaze wandered and met his, we would immediately pull back and pretend to be serious out of sheer embarrassment. We were also slightly abashed at our giggles and animated glances at each other unlike everybody else around us who pretended not to notice the  would-be future Prime Minister sitting across from them — at least until then. We saw the man at the table next to us peeking at Mr. Gandhi (or rather, Rahul) out of the corner of his eye. Even a bubbly boy in a turban couldn’t help but glance at him mischievously, just like us. We kept ordering despite feeling full; we had to kill time to stay there until he left — or more accurately, buy time so that we could meet. “Chamomile tea and a mud cake, please,” we said to the waiter who was beaming more than usual. We didn’t want to take a photograph — that would be too tacky, I felt. Just a hi and a smile, would do — anything to satiate these fan-girls. 

It looked like he had finished his meal and was picking his teeth with the toothpick — an act I’m willing to pass off as normal human behaviour. And then again his darting eyes found ours. My mother gave a tentative half-bow in his direction and he responded with a polite nod. That nod instantly gave my mother and me the courage to rise from our seats and walk over to his table. 

The moments that followed feel blurred in my memory. My body went stiff as I stood up. I nudged my mother to lead, and I followed, my gait incredibly rigid. Words stumbled from my mother’s lips as she tried to introduce herself to him in a faint, muffled voice, “late….MP….Shanavas’ ….daughter.” Before she could even finish speaking, her words trailing off, he reached out to shake her hand. I stood beside her with the diligence of a schoolgirl. When my mother mentioned I was her daughter, he shook my hands as I introduced myself. His warm, youthful smile, will never leave me; never before had I seen a man so polite, charming, and kind. After the brief interaction, we retreated to our table. We avoided making eye contact with anyone even though I could sense the eyes of every surrounding table tracking us all the way back.  

We sat down at our table and finished off the last bits of mud cake left on the plate, our hearts lighter and more elated. Now we could finally savour the chocolatey delight in peace. Almost immediately, we noticed people around us slowly getting up to approach Rahul. Some of them even took photographs, despite it being a high-end restaurant. Everyone had been holding back, just like us, for fear of appearing intrusive. They needed the spark to get going, and we offered it with our brief act of chivalry (I am exaggerating, of course). We paid the bill, left the restaurant, and walked out to the parking area to collect our vehicle. On our way out, we spotted Rahul, his mother, and their family friends climbing into theirs. As we drove through the quiet, tree-lined roads of Chanakyapuri, we couldn’t help but feel a mixture of satisfaction, delight, and amazement. Our hearts and tummies were full. Great encounters are rare; this was an unforgettable Sunday afternoon. 

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Your much-cherished ‘The Week Gone By’ will return in two weeks. The author is currently on a holiday break.

This afternoon as I looked into my phone, the news of sexually transmitted infections (STIs) surging across Europe flashed on my screen. Although I’m not one that should be even mildly worried by this prospect because I’m neither a European resident nor a sexually active person, it sowed enough caution in me. 

Some like to blame dating apps and its popularity; the correlation can be hard to miss for the average reader. Some lament that shagging has become more lax with people using condoms less and less, though there is even lesser evidence to support this hypothesis. What is evident is that STIs, despite being treatable can be devastating and wreck lives if left untreated for long; women may become infertile, while syphilis can kill. To tackle the issue head on, we need more data — crucial bits like whether the infections are transmitted homosexually or heterosexually — that is best captured through strict monitoring. Men who have sex with men, migrants and sex workers, are the groups most at risk. The surge spans the entire continent from France to countries as tiny as Malta. 

Malta has been in the news for all the wrong reasons this week. The latest one involves it being the hub (aka ‘tax haven’) for corporates looking to evade taxes (the NYT did a story about how Crocs leveraged its small office in Malta for tax benefits). Companies set up their ‘two-person’ headquarters in the country claiming its their base to exploit its lenient tax rules, which can fall as low as zero percentage, with the right manoeuvres. The Big Four help the companies work their way through these loopholes and seize maximum benefits. To Donald Trump pulling the USA out of the OECD’s Double Tax Treaty, things look grim for global tax administration — but yippee for the MNCs. 

Since we started out with STIs and the potential correlation between the surge in dating apps and such diseases, there’s another trend that’s been on the rise: Hobbyamory. To put it short and neat, it is the phenomenon of singles retreating into themselves and developing hobbies instead of endlessly swiping and going on dates that will never work out in the first place. Well, let’s say this has more to do with the disillusionment with dating apps itself. The latter sold romantic fantasies promising that a swipe might be all it takes to change our lives. In essence, it promised fast results in an area where the idea of success itself is illusory, one that is arrived at through compromise and open-mindedness.

In truth, love is less a fantasy and more a gritty partnership. It heartens me to see that there are other people like me who would rather prefer their tactile creations coming to fruition (such as a finished sketch, clay pot or piece of writing) than seek love during times when it is not possible. Sometimes we need to give ourselves a break to recoup ourselves and bring out the best in us before we thirstily hanker after love. Give it a rest. Sometimes love is found in places where we least expect it. Alexander Pope said, “Blessed is he who expects nothing, for he shall never be disappointed,” and on reading this for the first time I remember thinking, ‘this enlightenment-era boffin is damn right!’

One longstanding hobby of mine has been to parse dense economics passages from The Economist and learn new concepts. This is my last-ditch attempt to think like an economist because it’s a job I wanted — during my whimsical teen years when my dreams had no limits — just as much as I wanted to be a journalist, editor, or football analyst (no, seriously!).

An intellectual adventure of a similar sort two days ago took me down the rabbit hole of Argentina’s peso situation. Javier Milei has been devaluing the peso to shore up exports. Logically, if we are going by the nominal exchange rate (NER) alone, this should make Argentinian products cheaper and more competitive in the global market, However, Argentina also suffers from inflation. When the rate of inflation outpaces the rate of devaluation — in other words, if domestic prices rise faster than the exchange rate adjusts, the real exchange rate (RER) appreciates. The peso becomes overvalued and paradoxically Argentinian goods become less competitive and expensive compared to its peers in the market. This puts pressure on Argentina’s paltry reserves as the central bank scrambles to sell dollars to keep the rate intact. 

I came across an interesting quote by the economist Joan Robinson last week that appears in her book ‘Economic Philosophy’’. It says, “the misery of being exploited by capitalists is nothing compared to the misery of not being exploited at all.” At first glance, it looks provocative — and indeed it’s been intended to be one. A Redditor described it as “something a capitalist would say.” 

For starters, Robinson was a devoted adherent of Keynesian economics who became one of the leaders of post-Keynesian economic thought. The quote highlights a painful reality of life and survival: sometimes having a low-paid job is still better than not having a job. Because it still brings income, howsoever little. Even when the capitalist tries to extract surplus value, it must employ people, invest in infrastructure, and generate output, all of which inevitably raises material living standards even though it was not the capitalist’s primary motive. In short, Robinson implies that in our imperfect economic system being employed is still better than not being employed at all. Her quote was a dry, sardonic way to put it even though it may seem like it is coming from an unlikely place. 

There are many things to admire and romanticise about Japan, from Washi tapes to glass toilets — and one that makes the list this week is its disaster preparedness. Twin earthquakes of a dangerous magnitude ravaged Kumamoto a decade ago, destroying thousands of buildings and killing hundreds. But the disaster also became an important learning point that changed how the Japanese responded to future disasters of a similar scale. We saw the latest exemplification of this in Kyushu, where the estimated casualties were significantly low at 38. Earthquake-proof infrastructure helped build this resilience. As the number of earthquakes keeps mounting across the globe (just this morning I woke up to the news of a 5.3-magnitude one rocking western Colombia), it would help governments to take a leaf out of Japan’s playbook.

Lastly, I wish to broach a subject that has vexed me for the past few months: the purported relationship between Islamism and Nazism. The discussion took a turn for the worst with the publication of the 2014 book, ‘Nazis, Islamists, and the Making of the Modern Middle East.’ The book alleged a shared synchrony between the goals and ideologies of the Islamists and Nazis, citing their shared opposition to British and French colonialism and hostility towards Jews, by drawing heavily on Amin al-Husseini’s rhetoric. Nearly all of these points can be disputed with facts: for one, the antagonism towards Jewish state (not ‘Jews’ as a category) is more a territorial issue than a religious one. Unlike the Grand Mufti of Jerusalem, al-Husseini, who drew an equivalence between Nazism and Islamism, the general discourse in the Arab world at the time was critical of Nazi methodologies. While it is true that the Nazis ran propaganda to whip up anti-Jewish sentiment in the MENA, the impact of Mufti’s ideas on Nazi policies are exaggerated. The book understandably elicited mixed reactions, with some scholars expressing concerns over its speculative aspects and skewed focus. 

I’m not a film buff. Yet I found myself drawn to finding out the role of the editor in making a film. They are so integral to the process yet rarely in lime light. At least as far as movie promotions go. Of course, once in a while the technicians do get invited but it’s not that anybody is looking out specifically for them. The National Award-winning editor Midhun Murali says some appreciation is coming their way. There are discussions about different ‘styles’ of editing – something unheard of previously.

So, with my heart full of hope and curiosity, I picked up the classic: Walter Murch’s In The Blink Of An Eye. The opening quote in the preface of the book was enough to hook me: 

Igor Stravinsky loved expressing himself and wrote a good deal on interpretation. As he bore a volcano within him, he urged restraint. Those without even the vestige of a volcano within them nodded in agreement, raised their baton, and observed restraint, while Stravinsky himself conducted his own Apollon Musagète as if it were Tchaikovsky, We who had read him listened and were astonished.

– The Magic Lantern by Ingmar Bergman

I saw an editor on a cinema forum say that the principles often applied to editing a written piece is eerily similar to those used in editing film. One of them recommended Stephen King’s On Writing as a good place to start. It should be next on my reading list this month. I’m halfway through Murch’s magnum opus. The impression I got was that the key to making a cut is to preserve and transmit the emotion. Alignment, frame and the like do matter, but emotion and story arc trumps everything else. 

This last week I learnt a bit about textile art. Turns out I was wrong about it all along. In short, I understood it’s about using thread/cloth to create art. I was absolutely enraptured by Faith Ringgold’s quilt art. Unlike the bundles of fibres and other odd things Judith Scott wrapped around in a tight squiggle-like coil, I can’t wrap my head around her’art’ works. Maybe I’m not built for this sort of thing. Modern art is not my forte (so chimed in everybody else too). 

The latest pet peeve of art critics sitting inside the happy confines of online mags like It’s Nice That seems to be that celebrities keep failing in their attempts to create art. Their paradigmatic examples are Adrian Brody, Ed Sheeran and Jack White. While I agree with characterisation of the former two as art ‘novices’ (to use a milder term than outrightly calling them ‘failures’), Jack White has been creating unique pieces — like hiding poetry in cushions, writing invoices in crayons and the captivating Red Tree at his debut exhibition in London. 

A commenter pointed out that in the age of AI literally anybody creating art in its raw form is a welcome development. I agree, and I believe unnecessarily picking on it reflects poorly on the critic than the art/artist. The internet is now flooded with AI art — part of what makes it so boring and even irritating to the eye is the lack of genuineness. I prefer to point out its insincerity rather than lack of originality as I believe no art is truly original. Art is, according to me, an imitation — an imitation of things that inspire us, be it the nature or something illusory on our minds. There’s something about the human emotion that shapes art which AI simply cannot simulate despite the endless prompts humans supply it in a bid to create on screen what’s on their mind. AI extrapolates based on the existing dataset and reflects the biases inherent in the sample it was fed. Moreover creating art using AI requires that one come up with a neat prompt that affirms exactly what the artist wants. And that’s the hard part. Because creating art is a non-linear process where one might start off with one idea, only end up at its polar opposite midway through the process. It is amid these ‘twists and turns’ — in the words of Christoph Niemann — that art is born.

The latest controversy that has engulfed the football world is FIFA’s decision to sell 20% stake in its subsidiary company — FIFA Forward Enterprise — to private investors. This would involve partly privatising the World Cup, with elements of dynamic pricing, expensive tickets, in a bid to reach American-football level revenues. But the fierce backlash to the proposed plan, led by the UEFA (with which it is always at loggerheads) and CONCACAF, prompted FIFA to scrap the plan. 

Menswear couture has long been a niche club and only recently with the explosion of Derek Guy (the menswear dude on Twitter) that it has become a hot topic in public discourse. One writer in the NYTimes says that, taken in by the latest fad they too plunged into the world of menswear and found themselves marvelling at the delicate fabrics and fine stitches of bespoke pieces. After flirting with several options on display, they finally bought a $700 jacket. It had no glaring labels or logos, so they didn’t expect it to draw attention. However, to their embarrassment, strangers at the supermarket and on the streets would compliment their jacket as they walked by. They concluded that sophisticated menswear is not meant for overly self-conscious fellas like the writer. They may have a point there. I’ve been there myself, but this is not the takeaway I’d come with. The delight and comfort of wearing such clothes regularly over time quietly wipes away the heightened self-awareness of the first-timer as one’s personality quietly gels in with their chosen attire. And the sense of confidence that comes with it is quite something. It’s a phenomenon that cannot be stated plainly in words, but experienced. 

Conscious choice of clothes and intentional dressing sow the seeds of that which sets one apart from fashion trends and other commercial obsessions — taste. And ultimately, sartorial tastes reflect one’s personality and values more than any social media virtue-signalling. 

1. Almost a week has passed since last week’s football debacle. It seems like every member of the AFA, from the players to the staff, were reeling from the hurt of Sunday night over the past one week — just like me. And now one person has come out to speak, having regained his senses — Lionel Scaloni. His words perfectly captured what I had always felt about the players, their unrelenting spirit, their fortitude to stick together in times of adversity and have each other’s back. Perhaps most memorably this line explains everything about their tournament journey and the thoughts we’ve been silently having: “continuing to fight even when their legs no longer respond to what their minds are asking them to do.” These were indeed a group of warriors. It was the same team that had played and won in 2022; now four years older, the will remained, but it was in conflict with their physicality. When the psychological confronts the material [limitations], an inevitable tension arises that cannot be easily resolved and often expresses itself through frustration and sometimes even violence. Because sometimes, some emotions cannot be contained. The trope of the ideal sportsman spirit needs to die somewhere. 
2. In other news, the CJP protest met its objective and the Union Education Minister resigned — a reassuring albeit bittersweet closure given the police brutality and arrests that unfolded when the protests entered its heated phase. At its best, the CJP is a pressure group. Any attempt by it to expand its wings and become a full fledged political party is a hard pass. There are legions of political parties in India already struggling to gain foothold. Moreover a divided opposition is not ideal for a healthy, functioning democracy. I’m not contesting the idea whether India is truly a democracy or not — that is something for the V-Dem Democracy Report to establish (who’s latest report classifies India an ‘Electoral Autocracy’). 
3. Corruption is universally abhorred. Yet, from a particularistic viewpoint it may not be as abhorrent — especially for the party involved in it when considering the circumstances. Sometimes corruption can help spur economic growth by bypassing red tapes: rules and regulations that muddy the paperwork and do more harm than good. They can act as little financial incentives for the officer, helping companies obtain contracts swiftly. The major caveat is that this mode works better in developing or least developed countries — such as those in Africa or South Asia. It is also a far-from-ideal way of driving industrialisation and is often seen in positive light only when it’s the last resort. Corruption, moreover, is not just a legal but also moral phenomenon. Bribery fits every framework of corruption — however prior to 1977, it was lawful for US companies to offer bribes to secure foreign contracts. The SEP says, “corruption is not at bottom simply a matter of law; rather it is fundamentally a matter of morality.” The ‘grease-the-wheels’ hypothesis also gives credence to the corruption-may-not-be-all-that-bad idea. One can’t help feeling topsy-turvy about the whole debate. 
4. The Oswald is a masterpiece by Dan Yaccarino. I can’t overstate how much of an impact the show has left on my childhood, outlook on life and happiness. Even today I yearn back to go to those cosy evenings where I would sit with my eyes glued to the blue Octopus and little sunflower on the screen and sip my tea heartily. The other day someone was talking about the therapeutical effects of watching the Oswald as an adult and I’ve been thinking of rewatching the series since. 
5. Oswald was a deeply empathetic figure. Well, turns out the ‘right’ despises empathy. Or to be fair to their perspective, ‘suicidal empathy’. It is a term coined by Gad Saad — with whose work I became only recently acquainted thanks to the World Cup — which denotes the kind of empathy — the excessive, uncritical compassion — that is detrimental to rational and optimal courses of action geared to self-preservation and security. Think of ‘dying to be kind.’ I can see a parallel with utilitarian thinking here. For instance, when a plane has entered a dangerous situation during a flight and asks its passengers to buckle up and wear the required lifeguards, it is always optimal to secure yourself first before looking after the elderly who may be travelling with you. But some, out of guilt, indebtedness, and extreme compassion, try to secure their elderly co-passengers first. This may take time and may not even be successful and by chance the plane suddenly starts evacuation measures the person as well as the elderly passengers are not secured properly and may die. However there are certain glaring cons: folks who espouse this belief are hard on crimes, closed to immigration, and oppose foreign aid. One of the biggest critics of suicidal empathy is — that’s right, you named it, Elon Musk. Need we say more? 
6. Plastic surgery has become normalised; almost every well-regarded hospital has a specialised aesthetics division — such has been the demand. But these are not just driven by disfigurements and other bodily distortions which require surgeries or treatments —rather the need to replicate the ideal instagrammable face. Social media has manufactured the perfect female, an illusory category subsuming and overriding all feminine diversities in appearance and shape  in the world. Even teenage influencers are devising their own ‘anti-aging’ regimens! More people in their 20s are taking Botox injections than ever. A dermatologist in the UK says that most patients who approach them with acne wouldn’t have had it in the first place had they not used ten different products on their face in the name of skincare. In what is a breath of fresh air, some Gen Z-ers are defying the trend and embracing natural beauty. Fashion, after all, is cyclical. And beauty trends are no different. The seeds of change are already sprouting: unpainted, natural, trimmed nails are in vogue. Before long, this welcome ‘trend’ will (hopefully) take over the visage too. 
7. I’ve long been an admirer of CSR funding and how it enables a plethora of social causes that would otherwise die out from dire state funding. In Kerala especially observing how companies spend on noble causes at close quarters gave me hope in the welfare capitalist system. But the framework seems to suffer from a few pitfalls: namely, shelling out money to meet CSR targets without  focusing on long-term tangible impact; poorly designed low-quality programmes; unequal distribution of funds across regions and causes; lastly, and more importantly, companies may favour visible surface-level interventions than those targeting structural changes. CSR is incredible resource because it makes sufficient amounts of capital for social causes and normalises corporate giving. What’s required to make the policy succeed is to measure outcomes than spending alone, and frame compliance targets around that. 

I had promised that I would return the morning after the final. Well, things didn’t turn out for me (and many other fans like me) as expected. Spain completely caught Argentina off guard — so much that Leo didn’t get more than a couple of touches for a fraction of a second during the entire match. Spain 1 – Argentina 0. 

From the outset of the match, I sensed the overarching internet narrative being projected onto the teams: Argentina, the thugs and beat-masters against the ever-so-ethical and politically correct Spain. The referee was quick to dish out yellow cards on the blue-and-white-jerseyed men. With Lisandro Martinez going out due to injury before halftime, nerves began wracking up and Argentina team may have felt the game was slipping out of their hands. The only way they could’ve won it was through penalties. They kept holding on until the last minute, even with one man down (Enzo was sent off) but in the end Emiliano could’ve only held up so far. He was the man of the match — an impregnable wall that kept saving the team through his astute saves. It is a shame that he wasn’t handed the Golden Glove. It is even worse that Messi, who led one of the most historical World Cup campaigns at an overripe age of 39, was omitted for the Golden Ball. It is impossible to ignore that this may well have been an attempt by FIFA to launder their reputation. 

Argentina is a team that plays with their heart on their sleeves. I love Argentinian football culture, and hailing from Kerala, where the fervour for the team is only second to the most passionate Buenos Aires neighbourhoods, my loyalties are lifelong and cast in stone. I admire the physical, aggressive, direct style of play with a tinge of creative flair, that the team has come to embody over the last couple of years. The night of the final was the night I realised I despise the Spanish — or rather Barcelona-esque— possession-heavy Tiki Taka game. It almost put me to sleep and was dreadful to watch. Argentina, for all its flaws, gives us last-minute dopamine-inducing thrilling goals that completely rewrites the script of the game. 

As a long-time supporter of FC Barcelona, one would’ve expected me to be happy for the many boys who won the trophy in La Roja. In fact, the team Spain consists of mostly Barcelona players, with just one Real Madrid-bound player, Cucurella (a match made in heaven — but that’s a topic for another day). But I wasn’t one teeny-weeny bit happy for the Barcelona players. When the most important night of my life approached, my heart inevitably, without hesitation, chose Messi. It was a profound revelation of where my loyalties lay all along. At that point, Barcelona was just a team Messi had once played for, albeit for many years, and loved dearly. Suffice it to say that I’ll love Barcelona only as long as it honours Messi. It is a conditional affection for a club that I had considered my own since childhood. I never thought I would say this. On Sunday night, I was confronted with the painful choice, and my emotions answered. I was always a player-first fan. But this realisation also gives me the opportunity to now venture out, watch matches without taking sides and adopt a club, a team that kindles a spark in me. That will be exciting. In a month’s time, I can’t wait to start watching the premier league. 

Barney Ronay didn’t miss a beat when he said Spain’s collective glory that hinges on players oiling a perfect system, subdued “a team built on the irrational magic of Messi’s lone genius.” Perhaps he’s been one of the very few Guardian writers who has been honest in his portrayal of Messi. 

There’s been much clamour about Paredes’ actions after the end of the match. There’s no need to create a ruckus about it. Fights are common in football matches, and when the emotions are running high it can spill over into physical attacks. 

And the last of all, and the worst of all, the match between Argentina and Spain morphed into a proto-war between the righteous left (read Palestine sympathisers) and the angry right (read Zionists) with the likes of Mehdi Hasan jumping into the bandwagon, donning an English shirt. This also tells us that in precipitous moments, the Big West likes to gang up against the ‘uncivilised’, ‘brutish’ third world country. Ishaan Tharoor clowned himself by writing a full article on New Yorker saying that he no longer identifies with the Argentina team that has now become ‘the establishment.’ We must rephrase his sentiment this way: Ishaan only likes to support the little, talented third world country team only so long as it remains at the bottom, trying against all odds to reach the top, always within reach but never really there. Once it reaches there he has to pick another side to parade; and this time he has interestingly chosen, of all underdogs, Spain. What an irony. 

Leo, do not give heed to anything that these naysayers and doomsday prophets say. Rodrigo de Paul perfectly summed up the larger Western and Arab narrative in the run up to the final when he said in his post-final statement that the whole world wanted this team, who reached a consecutive final despite being flawed and tactically and technically inferior, to not smile again. La Albiceleste only owes to the millions of Argentines and the millions of fans who support them outside their country — in Kerala that bleeds blue and white every four years, Bangladesh that gets drunk in Messi-madness every time he graces the pitch, and most of all in the virtual space (a shout out to FCBJimmy, BCNOgi and the impeccable Twitter legends who took us on a ride this World Cup) — who have been standing by this family through thick and thin. 

Onwards we go, Vamos!  Uno perfecto, Argentino!

Notes

*The title of the post translates into English as ‘Not a legend, but God.’

Lionel Scaloni’s reaction when Argentina goes two goals down or ultimately wins the match sometimes leaves me speechless. It is a lesson in stoicism. And his muted, almost suspended expressions remind me of the infamous, oft-quoted Rudyard Kipling poem ‘If–’; particularly this bit: 

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

    And treat those two impostors just the same

There has been no end to the number of articles I’ve been reading this whole week about Lionel Scaloni’s strategy — which involves a light mix of pragmatism, flexibility, effectively-timed substitutions, accompanied by an accurate reading of the game. Spain looks the dominant side in the approaching final — going by the verdict of sports writers — but if Argentina is to ever come on the top, it will all fall on one person — Lionel Messi. That’s both nerve-wracking and alluring for this hardcore fan, who first fell in love with Messi before becoming a Penya Blaugrana regular. That is why I pull no punches in stating that my loyalty is with the side that has Messi — La Albiceleste.

Nimish Dubey, the sports writer, likened the current Argentina side to Real Madrid, and Spain (La Roja!) to Manchester City. The resemblance is uncanny. The blue-and-white-jerseyed 2022 World Cup Champions are the comeback specialists in this tournament, often clinching victory in the dying minutes of a match from the jaws of defeat. If Argentina becomes the winner tonight, it will become the first team since Brazil in 1962 to win consecutive World Cups. Suffice it to say that the CBF’s offices will be smashed to pieces if this happens. 

Meanwhile a new debate recently in football discourse has been whether the player of a team — who got knocked out of the tournament — but nevertheless scored the most number of goals deserves to win the Golden Boot. Last night, France played England in the losers’ final for third place, and though the former lost, Mbappe scored a brace that made him the all-time top scorer, surpassing Messi by two goals. I have not made up my mind on this subject yet. If Messi scores a brace tonight I might not bother having an opinion about it. 

Some have been saying that this final mirrors in intensity to the Argentina-Italy semi-finals of 1990 in which the Argentines trounced Italy to advance to the finals (which they unfortunately lost to the then all-mighty — and perhaps last — West Germany side). 

Spain and Argentina are not just tied by language and consequently cultural influences, but a long history, kept alive by immigration from both sides. 

Spain colonised Argentina in the 1500s and the latter won back independence in 1816. Between 1880 and 1950 Argentina received waves of European immigrants, most of them Italian and Spanish, who were fleeing Europe due to rising poverty, landlessness and political instability. Most of southern Europe were agrarian at the time and land was becoming scarce due to overpopulation; crop failures could ravage livelihoods. Jewish pogroms stressed the continent further. 

On the other hand, Argentina had vast tracts of fertile land that appealed to these foreigners. The country’s agricultural exports sector was booming at the time and demanded labour — which presented an opportunity for many unemployed Spaniards and Italians. The government actively encouraged European immigration by incentivising passage, keeping a lax immigration policy and providing other benefits. The Argentine thinker Juan Bautista Alberdi famously said “to govern is to populate.” Moreover, Argentina was culturally and linguistically closer for the Spaniards than the US. Much of Argentine Spanish, food, and culture (tango, pasta, ‘che’) show heavy traces of Italian influence. 

One less favourable outcome of this immigration (to the modernist eye) was that Argentina quickly became a haven for some Nazi war criminals such as Eichman, Mengele under Juan Peron’s government. 

Fast forward to the 21st century, the immigration pattern has reversed with many Argentines — most of whom have ancestral connections to Spain and hold dual passports — flocking to Spain and other European countries. Chronic economic instability drives this movement. Spain even has a special fast-track route that enables anyone hailing from Ibero-American countries and residing in Spain for two years or more, to claim citizenship. Madrid and Barcelona are hotspots, and the latter can boast of many neighbourhoods that feel like Buenos Aires. Argentina itself has tightened its immigration law, a reversal from its historical open-door policy. 

So the meeting between Spain and Argentina in tonight’s final goes beyond the wondrous Messi-bathing-Yamal picture — which apparently was so mind-blowing that UNICEF had to step in to claim it’s real. It was captured by Joan Monfort, who didn’t realise the absurdity of it all back when he snapped it. It lay in his drawers, one among the many of the kind he had captured over the years — until recently, when Lamine Yamal burst into the limelight with his footballing prowess. His mother Sheila promptly produced the picture for the world to see — because this indeed was something legendary, like a fulfilling movie arc. So yes, coming back to our initial proposition: this final is between two eternally-linked nations by history, culture and football; by Lionel Messi — a meeting of the country whose blood he carries in his veins and the country where he felt himself, and danced, enthusing generations of Spaniards. He is the dear son of both Spain and Argentina. And that is why the final tonight is difficult — both for him, and the millions of ‘culers’ across the world.

Before we wind up I wish to quote two passages (the opening and closing, respectively) from Sid Lowe’s wonderful article on this beautiful battle: 

“Maybe Lionel Messi has picked up lots of babies, maybe it’s chance, but for those of us who have faith, who believe in something beyond, ‘chance’ is God’s pseudonym when he doesn’t want to sign his name,” Luis de la Fuente says. “In life, everything happens for a reason. Sometimes it’s true that the circle isn’t closed, but in my view there’s something else, something … I don’t know, mystical, spiritual.”

And towards the end Lowe says: 

Spain versus Argentina. European champions versus South American champions. Lionel Messi versus Lamine Yamal. The 19-year-old at his first World Cup, the age Messi was when they first met, versus the 39-year-old at his sixth and surely last. The teenager then who went on to mark a generation, now a father, against the teenager called to mark the next, his anointed one. The boy handed Messi’s No 10 like Messi was handed Maradona’s, the boy handed to him almost 20 years ago, unknown then, an icon now, the boy in the bath.

Whatever happens, Messi-and-InshaAllah. Adios, until next morning!

Keeladi excavations

The Keeladi excavation is the hottest topic in archaeology and historical discourse in India. It’s only 11 years since the excavation began but with each round of ‘digging’ more affirmative details emerge that point to something bigger. Yes, something of a proto-(or even proper) civilisation in a village named Keeladi on the banks of Vaigai river near Madurai. It is estimated to have existed during Sangam age, somewhere between Iron Age and the early historic period. The oldest artefact unearthed date back to 580 CE. Artefacts almost 2000-2500 years old have been found. For ease of understanding, the IVC spanned from 3200 BCE to 1500 BCE and the Vedic age thereafter from 1500 BCE to 500 BCE. The Tamil Brahmi script found at Keeladi is older than the Ashokan Brahmi script. It also helps to remember why these findings have created discomfort among a section of the intelligentsia and the common folk – urbanisation in ancient India is often viewed as a Northern phenomenon with the dominant narrative that the Northern Aryans civilised the Dravidian South. The excavations have only amplified the North-South divide. The controversy spiralled further with the ASI transferring the archaeologist that led the excavations — Mr. Ramakrishna — and delaying the release of the excavation report on grounds of insufficient corroborative evidence. The ASI released a draft version in mid-2025 but the final version will have to wait as it is still bound up in ongoing academic and political dispute. Without the political will of the TN government the excavations wouldn’t have been expedited so quickly. The Tamil Nadu Archaeology department (they have a specific ministry dedicated to this subject) has taken over the rest of the job and is digging in pursuit of more evidence. And the details that emerge with every ‘dig’ is extraordinary. On that note, I think Sowmiya Ashok’s recent book ‘The Dig’ makes for timely reading. I had the chance to recently attend a conversation between her and the wonderful historian Anirudh Kanisetti regarding the book.

Argentina teetering on the edge, VAR, and much more

I watched two Argentina matches the last week, the one against Egypt and another this morning – QFs against Switzerland – which they won, somehow. The match against Egypt deserve some space here. The post-match discourse was riddled with controversy regarding favourable refereeing towards Argentina (which still hasn’t ended), ‘rigged’ calls – including from public personalities such as Zohran Mamdani (when it comes to football he’s a total larper regardless of his political transparency and governance merits), and ‘Fifa’s favourite son’ (or ‘princess’!) memes’. Infantino’s publicly profuse love for Messi and his team isn’t helping either. Mamdani’s bleats regarding the game during a speech at a totally unrelated event gave further ammunition to internet conspiracy theorists. To my surprise, many level-headed people such as the coaches of Spain and France said the refereeing was spot on. Even Mo Salah came forward to make things clear that the coach and his flavours spouted opinions about the game being unfair in the heat of the unexpected and swift loss. The Egypt side folded in a matter of 13 minutes. Lionel Messi’s brilliance, like an old lion roused from his slumber, outshined the opponents and in a striking equaliser and an assist he made the match the one to remember for ages. . He had missed a penalty earlier on in the game and was set to shoulder the blame for the team’s loss (the whole lot of which performed abysmally for a large part of the game). It’s when Messi woke up that the whole team picked up on his energy and acted with the aggression and drive to win.

Several explanatory videos on the internet help us understand the refereeing decisions. The foul committed during the build-up of Egypt’s (stellar) second goal rendered it null – and technically it confirms to Fifa’s rule book. In fact, debates and controversies around refereeing are as old as the World Cup itself. With a whole nation behind a team rooting for them, the furore over any tiny decision not going their way is understandable. The claimed penalty for Salah for tripping inside Egypt’s penalty box is, as they say it in football-speak, bullocks. Lisandro Martinez does not touch Salah and recovers the ball deftly – Salah tripped over due to loss of balance and not because he was pushed down by the defender. I’ve been watching the clips in slow-motion on repeat the whole week.

But the damage has already been done by mindless social media warriors – who support rival teams and players. Now Argentina and Messi are being painted as Zionists, Israel-sympathisers and racists and it’s a full-fledged war between them and the Islamic world and the communists. Leftwing social media activism is a brain-dead affair with absolutely zero awareness of issues. Marx? Let alone Engels, they haven’t picked up even a book of Arundhati Roy to understand the predicament of lower classes, the bourgeois-proletariat dynamic and incipient revolutions in societies.

Against Switzerland, Argentina played with an almost unfathomable level of insouciance. Argentina are now rightly called Extra Time specialists. They played laggardly during the first sixty to seventy minutes only to pick up steam during the fag end of the match and go full throttle and sneak in two to three bangers to secure the game. Julian’s goal this time was astonishing – it might as well be voted the goal of the tournament. Messi wasn’t able to unleash his brilliance — partly because the team was not playing cohesively and he had to drop back to the centre to create chances. Messi’s right-footed(!) shot came close to sealing the game but it veered of the side bar.

On a lighter note, fuchsia-coloured boots are the trend this World Cup with all brands — from Nike, Adidas to New Balance — coming out with different versions of it. Some sources suggest that an analytics report that was read by all the said brands predicted the fuchsia would be colour of 2026 summer and so the brands followed suit.

Is football coming home?

ET calls it England’s most fulfilling self-parody. In fact their mini section on this cri de guerre needs quoting in full – here’s a snapshot:

The Economist studied the geographical and cultural aspect of this claim recently. Well, turns out, even though England invented the game and codified its rules, the ‘home’ or the ‘centre’ of football has now shifted South, somewhere between France and Spain. TheRestIsFootball can’t stop hallucinating about England finally clinching the trophy that have been eluding them for years. The self-aggrandisement is evident — why do they want to claim they are the ‘home’ of football? It sounds as if they are staking claim to a property that’s been sold to a septuagenarian from another continent and has passed down three generations.

A recent editorial piece highlighted an interesting fact. The WC’s unpredictability – routine Cinderella stories of unknown sides that make it to the top (not this time though – with just the four top rankers making through to the SFs) – and inefficiency in terms of how disproportionately teams spend to get them prize, is also what makes the whole tournament exciting.

Studies don’t conclusively prove that football is linked to lower levels of loneliness. But the act of watching a game with a group of people, or attending a match in person can create a collectivist shared feeling. In fact even discussing a game in a private group or reddit forum can create similar experiences that significantly reduce loneliness. Simon Kuper attests to this in his book World Cup Fever. Studies also point out that less suicidal deaths are recorded during the WC period than average.

Footballers’ most recent gripe is about hydration breaks. Many consider it a ploy to run more advertisements and rake in money. But the counter-argument is that broadcasting sports matching is becoming an expensive affair. An editorial I read recently argues that advertisements needn’t obstruct the flow of the game and can be carefully placed and timed during the match screening in a way that does not disrupt the overall experience.

I read somewhere that in the late 20th century, to be born Dutch was to have football ingrained in you. I wonder whether the same can be said of the Dutch today.

So far, this World Cup tournament has been one for the GKs – except for Pickford, of course.

The spectre of AI

AI slop is saturating our social media feeds, articles, short stories. The latest controversy about one of Granta’s short story prize winners having used AI in their work is alarming. But also one might wonder if we’re being too probing about any trace of AI in written works. For instance, it’s not that any use of em dash can be definitively attributed to the work of ChatGPT. It is a legitimate punctuation mark used by writers for centuries. We must keep using em dashes, as and when we wish, and not resort to replacing them with commas, semicolons, and the like, which barely convey the same meaning as our long-hyphen princes.

I read that people are now using AI to argue their legal cases and defend themselves in courts. AI, to its merit, is so loyal that it comes up with fabricated cases in the person’s defence. Anything to win the case, it seems!

Bits and bobs

1. Even short burst of exercise – called VILPAs – can be as effective as week-long regular cardio-strength alternating workouts, to lead a healthy life. VILPAs include activities like running to catch the bus, rushing to the grocery store, doing laundry and the like. Is that too one of the reasons women live longer than men – especially in states like Kerala where women do a bigger share of household work and run errands? In terms of intensity, VILPAs are comparable to HIITs.
2. The Trump-Meloni clash at the NATO Ankara summit last week was stuff of popcorn. Trump said he was attending it out of respect for Erdogan. And Trump reportedly is unhappy with Europe for not spending enough on defence, sticking upto him in the Iran war, plus the Greenland conquest is still on his mind.
3. I didn’t know Padmanabha Singh, the titular Maharaja of Jaipur, could sketch (!).
4. Recently, the Hollywood Reporter came under fire for platforming Pratik Shah, who’s been accused of sexual misconduct by several women.
5. I still can’t figure out what the Communist Party’s strategy after the Kerala assembly election debacle. They seem to be pandering to the (obnoxiously pretentious) CJP which is now using Sonam Wangchuk’s indefinite fast as a political trump card and an opportunity for moral signalling vis-a-vis the Congress Party. God save the youth of the country!
6. Taylor Swift and Travis Scott recently tied the knot, in what was an extravagant wedding at Maddison Square Garden. Many dubbed it a ‘marketing blitzing’ and a show of ‘vanity’. Someone said that Swifties just practice ‘loser politics’ and I couldn’t agree more. This, despite the fact that she got on the wrong side of Donald Trump. Sometimes being anti-Trump and progressive/liberal does not mean the same.
7. Lately I’ve become skeptical of Zohran Mamdani and his politics. I can feel it, just can’t prove it because his governance track record is too good at the moment. Here’s to my hunches coming true.
8. Last May, we had the first US-China Presidential summit in nine years. A lot has changed in this time span . Now Beijing increasingly argues on its own terms. And the US is willing to keep things mellow for the sake of peace, trade and global competition – especially in the case of AI, semiconductors, renewables, space, etc.
9. To my delight I discovered that Parari Muhsin and Mahsar Hamsa have the same interests as me – as far as their Instagram followings are concerned!
10. I just cannot bring myself to keep watching Shayk Rasoul’s absurd takes again. His criticism of the Argentina-Egypt game was the final nail in the coffin. Imam is a big Ronaldo fan too. It’s a no from me. His ultra-conservative slant needs no mentioning either.
11. It’s been approximately 33 months since the Gaza war began and The Economist still can’t fathom why Israel is being isolated on the world stage.
12. Bharadwaj Rangan does ask some pesky unempathetic questions to his guests.
13. My favourite pleasure read this week was the NYT article on the man who hoarded over 10,000 books in his house and had to vacate as the landlord and building authorities deemed the books a fire hazard.
14. Disheartening fact: Looks like the World Bank has ditched its climate targets. Well, Trump was no fan of them in the first place. It was only a matter of time before the Bretton Woods institution folded.

Adios!

‘Know thyself’, the ancient greek adage propounded by none other than Socrates adorn many walls and frames. But knowledge of the self is a double-edged sword. As with everything, there’s a fine line between having too much knowledge and too little. Aristotle’s concept of Middle Path is resonant here. Too much self-awareness can lead one into a spiral of doom-thinking and depression. As we unpack more and more of ourselves, we are likely to imbue our deeper thoughts, unresolved feelings and unhealed wounds with negativity and create a grand narrative that may seem to explain everything that’s wrong in our life. I’m reminded of a very pertinent Shakespearan line, “there’s nothing good nor bad, but thinking makes it so.” And that is the larger truth here. 

The part of the brain that makes us self-aware or self-conscious is the default mode network. In people with depression, this network is overly active. One constantly finds themselves ruminating their problems  and thinking the worst of themselves. C.S. Lewis is his classic ‘The Problem of Pain’ says “the doors of hell are locked on the inside.” How we perceive life shapes our experience of it. If one chooses a doomsday version of everything, they shall reap the same. Self-enslavement is one dangerous offshoot of development in modern society. We live in an age where egoistic fulfilments reign supreme. They are celebrated and are seen as markers of success. Simon Weil foresaw a future riddled with narcissism and emphasised the need to contemplate the world. 

Philosophers of various stripes have for centuries beseeched the common folk to turn inwards. But we have reached an uglier form of inward speculation, where self-introspection has been replaced by self-obsession. Not everyone is guilty of indulging in it. But when a majority sets spark to a way of doing things, “culture” the unfortunate few who are unable co-opt or actively resist initially fall out after a while. The societal narrative pushes out those that don’t fit it. Now we can see one of the reasons why Darwin’s theory of natural selection is much misinterpreted, twisted by natives and fools, embraced by liberals and fascists alike. The strong-weak dichotomy prevails, giving the supposed stronger majority a handy tool to eliminate the “less capable”, and worse, justify their position. 

“Hell is other people” is one of those frequently misinterpreted quotes. It appears as the final line in the play ‘No Exit’. The author of the play, the famous French philosopher Jean Paul Sartre was himself an avid socialite, with many friends and lovers. It would be more appropriate if misanthropes quoted Schopenhauer who haughtily averred, “a high degree of intellect tends to make a man unsocial.” He embraced quietism and had a resignationist attitude to life. It is hard to testify this blunt aphorism. You know it’s bad philosophy when even Nietzsche (another known aphorism-machine) gives it a second thought. 

A study published by Nature Medicine, a journal has some unsurprisingly interesting results. Broadly, people with some form of social contact with regular physical exercise tend to live longer, the study concluded. While we can’t establish a causative relationship between the two because of the nature of the survey that rely on people’s experiences, the evidence in favour is telling. In fact, social contact, such as living with a partner, seems to have a more positive impact on positive well-being than exercising. Social isolation breeds loneliness. Lonely people also tend to eat poorly and move less, thus setting up a vicious cycle where the bad lifestyle aspects reinforce each other. 

We live in a world where hard-core egocentrism has peaked (or has it?). An egomaniacal president reigns supreme over the most powerful country in the world. Autocrats in other countries have dutifully imitated. Nativism is alive and flourishing. Asylum-seekers, especially those from  ethnicities that don’t match the natives’, can be left to perish, the thinking goes. As with all social and cultural phenomenon, we may see the disorienting impact of ego-centrism, at the level of the personal and world, ebb soon. The fear is whether technology has made that reverse course (and hope) impossible. 

This morning I woke up to the news of Donald Trump, America’s (and as he prefers, the world’s) would-be King changing the 145-year old President’s desk of the Oval Office. Tabloids from across the world, as keen as they are to tart up their news items no matter how sleazy or untrue, purport the reason to have been Elon Musk’s son wiping down his booger on the edge of the table as his father was addressing the press beside him. Mr. Trump is a known germaphobe, but would he trouble provoking the ire of his closest mate? I’m circumspect about the conclusion many twitterati have reached at. Surely, the antics of a little unsuspecting boy cannot have been the only reason. 

That said, with the American news-world in a quagmire and so too the rest of the world, I’m compelled to admit that Trump 1.0 was a mere apparition. Trump 2.0 is the real game. From calling Ukraine’s elected president a “dictator” to expressing thoughts of taking over the Panamas, and soon inducting Canada as the 51st state, to backstabbing India with tariffs despite his bonhomie with India’s Prime Minister, there’s much to relish (sadistically) and lament (realistically) about the Trump administration. I am reminded of a great turn of phrase a writer in the FT used to describe the madness surrounding Trump’s second presidency. He remarked, we have moved from viewing the madness as “boringly shocking to shockingly boring.” The madness has become par for the course in 2025. Normalcy has never felt so perturbing in the recent past. The progressives and liberals have become mute spectators, and to an extent innured, to this unravelling madness. 

Why on earth is Europe, who has been doing its fair bit in the war against Russia, on the table for peace settlement? Why is the aggressor’s victim not a party to the talks? Two chums dishing it out in Riyadh — is that how it’s been planned? These are fairly commonsensical questions, but none of them matter to Trump, his whims and ego, and those who partake in it, including Marco Rubio. As a recent FT editorial put it, “if you’re not on the table, you’re on the menu.” If slicing up Ukraine to transfer bits and bobs to Russia (or maybe Kyiv too?) constitutes “art of the deal” for Mr. Trump, I’m afraid it’s a very poor deal. The aggressor isn’t being punished or shown its place. 

The costs on Ukraine are mounting. Russia has been militarily advanced on the battlefield. Ukraine’s economy isn’t in great shape. In addition to a potential handover of territories to Russia, it has to exchange its mineral wealth with the US for its supposedly sumptuous military support. And good luck unearthing all those critical minerals, let alone export, because the contractor-local elite cobweb that controls the rare earth underground empire in Ukraine is one that will decades to untangle. By then, Trump will loafing at Mar-a-Lago. Baron Trump might take off from where his father left it, but would he? — a question for another day. 

Liberal democracy is Europe’s biggest threat, yapped J. D. Vance at the Munich Conference. He has a bone or two to pick with the Europeans. It seems like a pet peeve of the members of this administration to speculate on Europe’s present and future. The extreme right in the continent is cosying up to Musk after his divisive comments. The latest in the pack is the Vice President of the US. The sparring with Rory Stewart about the basic tenets of Bible was entertaining indeed. He seems to be spending more time online pushing the anti-woke agenda than taking real, sensible action. Or perhaps, Musk and his teenaged DOGE boys are at it. 

If anyone needed any convincing that intelligence is not a marker for common sense, and lesser still, for moral principles, Elon Musk is the case exemplar. It is astonishing how a man can seem so unhinged online and spearhead Tesla, Space X and now X itself to success. Four years ago he was tweeting in support of Ukraine. Power can transform people, more for the bad than good. I’ve long believed that history is linear, with every phase being an advancement over the previous, technologically, politically, intellectually, and socially. It appears that political moods are like fashion trends, cycling through bouts of despotism, fascism, statism, liberalism, and back again. The 60s baddies were reckless — remember Marianne Faithfull? — the much-derided boomers of this day. Now they’ve become the harbingers of extreme right-wing movements. Take Reform UK’s supporters, or simply those who attend anti-immigrant rallies. It will not be hard to find an 80-something gaffer stomping with the ferocity of again, might I say, a 60s baddie. War-devastated asylum seekers are at the receiving end of these diatribes. The 1990s economic order is in for a churn with Trump imposing tariffs on every country he dislikes, like a kid throwing confetti on everybody’s plate at a party. Will the madness be temporary – for four years – or could this set the world on a different course for the foreseeable future? The era of the modern-era king has only begun.