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By:

Correspondent

23 August 2024 at 4:29:04 pm

Street Circus

The NEET-UG paper leak was a genuine grievance. Millions of students who spent years preparing for one of India’s toughest examinations deserved answers, accountability and justice. But what unfolded at Jantar Mantar was no movement for educational reform. It was a spectacle of rage, abuse and performative rebellion that often appeared more interested in viral clips than viable solutions. The Cockroach Janta Party (CJP), which claimed to represent the anger of students, ended up exposing...

Street Circus

The NEET-UG paper leak was a genuine grievance. Millions of students who spent years preparing for one of India’s toughest examinations deserved answers, accountability and justice. But what unfolded at Jantar Mantar was no movement for educational reform. It was a spectacle of rage, abuse and performative rebellion that often appeared more interested in viral clips than viable solutions. The Cockroach Janta Party (CJP), which claimed to represent the anger of students, ended up exposing itself, revealing itself to promote a culture of outrage without responsibility and more troubling, have aspersions cast on its funding sources. Besides the fact that just how many of those gathered were afflicted NEET students, the ugliest part of the protest was the language. Videos from Jantar Mantar showed protesters hurling the most obscene and personal abuses at Prime Minister Narendra Modi. One can dislike the PM or oppose his policies, reducing political disagreement to filthy personal abuse against an elected Prime Minister is gross cowardice and at the basic level, a sheer failure of basic civic etiquette. No entity cannot claim to be fighting for the dignity of students while abandoning all standards of dignity in public discourse. The irony was impossible to miss. A section of this self-proclaimed progressive generation speaks constantly about equality, feminism, tolerance and justice. Yet the very same voices displayed extraordinary intolerance towards anyone they decided was an enemy. Journalists were targeted, political opponents were dehumanised and anyone carrying a different opinion was casually branded with labels designed to silence rather than debate. Social media has created a dangerous illusion among many young activists that a viral video is a victory, and that shouting louder is the same as achieving something. A few Instagram reels, borrowed revolutionary imagery and slogans can create the appearance of rebellion. But governing a country and reforming institutions and fixing broken systems require far more than theatrical anger. The government, however, cannot escape responsibility either. The crisis was allowed to grow because of delayed communication and inadequate political management. A prompt response, transparent investigation and early intervention could have prevented a limited controversy from becoming a national embarrassment. Instead, the government was forced into damage control, and Education Minister Dharmendra Pradhan, a capable minister, became the political casualty. For the citizens, it was a colossal waste of time. After weeks of noise, confrontation and disruption, the students gained little. The examination system remains under scrutiny and larger problems remain unresolved. The only visible outcome is the removal of a minister. A protest that begins with a genuine grievance but ends as a contest of abuse and attention-seeking has not strengthened democracy. It has weakened the very standards it claims to defend.

Iran war frays Pune’s gastronomic fabric

As a gas shortage ripples through the city, its vast informal food economy has begun to unravel

AI generated image
AI generated image

Pune: The global energy shock triggered by disruptions to gas supplies from West Asia has begun to empty commercial LPG cylinders across India. But its effects are being felt most starkly in Pune, known for its student bustle and middle-class industriousness.


The crisis has begun to choke Pune’s famed informal food industry as the severe shortage of commercial gas cylinders brings large swathes of the city’s eateries, its mess halls and snack centres to a standstill.


The crisis, brought on by escalating events in West Asia following the US-Israel strikes on Iran last month, has exposed just how fragile and how extensive Pune’s informal food economy really is.


Tragic Disruption

While domestic cooking gas remains largely available, sparing households the worst, the city’s commercial kitchens - from modest tea stalls to long-standing boarding houses - have been starved of fuel. The result is a slow-motion shutdown. Restaurants have gone dark. Sweet shops and snack counters have shuttered. Entire ‘khao gallis,’ the dense food lanes that animate neighbourhoods, have fallen silent or now operate sporadically.


In some corners, improvisation has replaced modernity. Outside eateries, traditional chulhas (wood-fired hearths) have reappeared, their smoke curling into the air like relics of an earlier century. Coal stoves and electric cooktops are pressed into service. Food is cooked on pavements, in full public view, in a bid to keep businesses alive. Yet such adaptations are labour-intensive, inefficient and unsustainable.


Few establishments illustrate the strain better than New Poona Boarding House, a century-old institution that has long fed students, office workers and pensioners. Its owner, Suhas Udupikar, now spends hours each day sourcing firewood to keep the kitchen running. Even then, compromises are unavoidable. The menu has been trimmed and altered: puris have replaced polis, a small but telling shift dictated by fuel constraints. The boarding house still serves meals, but only just. Survival, not service, has become the priority.


Elsewhere, the impact has been more abrupt. In the Camp area, Garden Vada Pav - a beloved purveyor of one of the city’s most iconic snacks - has halted production entirely. Its large, indulgent vada pav and spiced buttermilk once drew crowds from across the city. Now, the shutters are down. For an estimated 400 to 500 families dependent on the enterprise, income has vanished overnight. What was once a culinary symbol of Pune has become a casualty of its energy shortage.


Business Impact

The crisis extends far beyond a handful of famous names. Food lanes along Jangli Maharaj Road, Sadashiv Peth, Sinhagad Road, Baner and Kondhwa - normally teeming with students and young professionals - have thinned out. Vendors who once thrived on high turnover and low margins now face a stark arithmetic: without fuel, there is no food; without food, there is no business.


The repercussions are perhaps most acutely felt by Pune’s vast student population. Roughly half a million students reside in the city, many of them reliant on low-cost khanavals (mess halls offering meals for as little as Rs. 70) as well as tea stalls and snack counters. As these establishments shut or curtail their offerings, students are being forced into difficult choices. Some have already returned to their hometowns. Others, staying back for examinations, are weighing whether to continue their education in Pune at all. Conversations about shifting to online learning have begun to surface, alongside a broader reassessment of the city’s rising cost of living.


The ripple effects spread through an intricate web of livelihoods. Pune’s food economy is not merely a collection of eateries; it is an ecosystem. Informal hostels, often run from private homes, depend on meal services prepared by women seeking supplementary income. Delivery workers ferry parcels across neighbourhoods. Drivers transport supplies. Small traders supply raw materials. When the kitchens fall silent, this entire chain falters.


For many, the threat is existential. Hotel workers, snack vendors and mess operators now face the specter of prolonged unemployment. Women running home-based meal services lose a crucial income stream. Even peripheral sectors like transport, logistics, small-scale supply, feel the strain. What began as a shortage of commercial gas cylinders has metastasised into a broader economic disruption.


There are also early signs of deeper anxieties. Some residents fear that if the shortage persists, its impact could spill into small and medium-sized industrial units on the city’s outskirts. While such concerns remain speculative, they underscore the sense of uncertainty gripping the city. Pune’s economic resilience has long rested on its diversity - education, services, manufacturing - but the current crisis reveals how interconnected these sectors are.

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