Algorithmic Anarchy

The NEET paper leak protests at Delhi’s Jantar Mantar should have remained a legitimate expression of student anger over the collapse of examination integrity. Instead, as the agitation escalated into clashes with the police, abusive sloganeering and an increasingly radical political campaign, Meta’s algorithms emerged as an invisible force multiplying the unrest. The controversy surrounding the brief removal of Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s message to the youth in the aftermath of the...

min read

The NEET paper leak protests at Delhi’s Jantar Mantar should have remained a legitimate expression of student anger over the collapse of examination integrity. Instead, as the agitation escalated into clashes with the police, abusive sloganeering and an increasingly radical political campaign, Meta’s algorithms emerged as an invisible force multiplying the unrest. The controversy surrounding the brief removal of Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s message to the youth in the aftermath of the protests only reinforces that concern. Meta has attributed the takedown to a “technical glitch” and apologised. But when the world’s largest social media platform can temporarily suppress the message of the elected leader of the world’s largest democracy during a politically charged moments, the issue extends well beyond a single deleted post. Who decides what India sees? That question has become impossible to ignore during the Cockroach Janta Party’s protests. Across Instagram and Facebook, users have reported being inundated with CJP videos, reels and protest clips despite never following the organisation or engaging with similar political content. Whether this resulted from coordinated paid collaborations, recommendation algorithms or both deserves a thorough investigation. But the larger democratic concern is that public opinion is increasingly being mediated not by citizens, journalists or elected representatives, but by opaque algorithms designed in Silicon Valley and optimised for engagement rather than democratic responsibility. Meta’s recommendation engine is not a passive notice board. Every piece of political content that reaches millions has first been selected by an algorithm whose workings remain largely hidden from public scrutiny. This is hardly unique to India. Around the world, Meta has repeatedly been accused of amplifying polarisation, misinformation and political extremism because outrage keeps users engaged. From elections to ethnic conflicts and episodes of civil unrest, the company has faced persistent criticism that its commercial incentives reward divisive content over balanced discourse. Democracies cannot afford to outsource the architecture of public debate to corporations whose primary obligation is to shareholders rather than constitutional values. While citizens are entitled to challenge governments and demand accountability, there is an important distinction between a movement that expands because people are persuaded and one that appears to be algorithmically amplified into omnipresence. Equally disturbing has been the normalisation of abusive political language during the protests. When such content is repeatedly amplified through recommendation systems, platforms cease to be neutral intermediaries and become active participants in degrading democratic discourse. Platforms that influence elections, protests and public opinion must explain how political recommendations are generated and why particular narratives receive extraordinary amplification. Silicon Valley companies insist they are merely technology platforms. But their algorithms increasingly exercise editorial power. When software determines which protests dominate national conversations and whose voices disappear, technology has already become politics.

The Absurdity of “Test Twenty”: Cricket’s Latest Monster

Waleed Hussain
Oct 19, 2025
3 min read

Oh, joy! Just when we thought cricket couldn’t get any more “innovative,” the powers-that-be have gifted us “Test Twenty.” Because nothing says “preserving the sanctity of the game” like smashing the five-day epic of Test cricket into a hyper-caffeinated, 20-over sprint. It’s like taking Shakespeare’s Hamlet and condensing it into a TikTok video: “To be or not to be? LOL, bye!” If you’re not already rolling your eyes, allow me to sarcastically applaud the ICC or whichever marketing genius dreamed this up. Bravo! You’ve solved the non-problem of Test cricket being “too boring” by turning it into a circus act.

For the uninitiated—bless your souls if you’ve managed to avoid this abomination—“Test Twenty” is the shiny new format announced in early 2025, blending the strategic depth of Test matches with the fireworks of T20. Matches are capped at 20 overs per side per day, but with Test-like rules: unlimited bouncers, no powerplays, and the pink ball under lights to “enhance viewer engagement.” It’s supposed to be a “bridge” between formats, attracting younger fans while keeping purists happy. Spoiler: It does neither. Instead, it’s a pitfall-riddled mess that exposes cricket’s desperate chase for relevance in a world of instant gratification.

Let’s start with the sarcasm-dripping pitfalls, shall we? First off, the pacing. Traditional Test cricket is a slow burn, a chess match where patience wins wars. In Test Twenty, it’s like forcing grandmasters to play speed chess while juggling flaming bats. Bowlers, those poor souls, get hammered in the first few overs as batters swing for the fences, knowing there’s no tomorrow—literally, since the game’s over before tea. Imagine Jasprit Bumrah, the king of yorkers, reduced to a sideshow act, slinging down 20 overs of “strategic aggression” only to watch sixes rain like confetti at a bad wedding. And the fielding? Forget cat-like reflexes; players will need to evolve into octopuses to cover the boundaries in this condensed chaos.

Humor me for a moment: Picture a “Test” declaration in the 15th over because your star batter got a cramp from all the frantic running. Or worse, rain delays—already the bane of cricket—turning a one-day affair into a multi-day farce. “Sorry, folks, Day 2 is postponed because the outfield’s a swamp. Tune in tomorrow for the thrilling conclusion of our 40-over epic!” The irony is delicious: They’ve shortened the game to combat boredom, but added layers of unpredictability that could drag it out longer than a standard ODI. And don’t get me started on player welfare. Test cricket builds endurance; T20 demands explosiveness. Mash them together, and you’ve got athletes ping-ponging between formats like overworked pinballs, risking burnout faster than a microwave popcorn bag left unattended.

Then there’s the commercial elephant in the room—or should I say, the sponsor-logo-plastered pachyderm? Test Twenty screams “monetization opportunity.” Shorter games mean more ads, more franchise tie-ins, and more excuses to slap energy drink logos on everything from helmets to the pitch. It’s hilarious how administrators pat themselves on the back for “growing the game” while conveniently ignoring that this format is just another cash grab. Remember The Hundred? That was supposed to revolutionize cricket too, but it mostly confused everyone with its quirky scoring and ended up as a footnote. Test Twenty feels like that, but with a pretentious “Test” label slapped on to fool traditionalists. Pitfall numero uno: It dilutes the brand. What even is a “Test” anymore if it’s over before you’ve finished your first beer?

And oh, the humanity—traditional Test cricket is about to take a long, painful hit. This new darling will suck up scheduling slots like a black hole devours stars. International calendars are already bloated with T20 leagues; now, boards will prioritize Test Twenty’s quick-turnaround profitability over the grueling five-dayers. Why host a Test series that might draw modest crowds when you can pack stadiums for a fireworks-fest that wraps up in hours? Purists will wail as iconic venues like Lord’s or the MCG host fewer real Tests, relegated to “heritage” events like dusty museum exhibits. Young players, lured by the glamour and paychecks, will skip honing their red-ball skills, leading to a generation of sloggers who crumble under pressure in actual endurance battles. It’s comedic in a tragic way: We’re trading timeless rivalries like the Ashes for forgettable slugfests that no one will reminisce about in 50 years.

In conclusion, Test Twenty isn’t innovation; it’s a sarcastic punchline to cricket’s identity crisis. It’s like putting pineapple on pizza—sure, some might love it, but it ruins the original for everyone else. If we let this monster thrive, traditional Test cricket won’t just take a hit; it’ll be knocked out cold, leaving us with a game that’s all flash and no substance. Let’s hope the fans revolt before it’s too late. Otherwise, farewell to the art of the draw; hello to the era of instant regrets.

(The writer is a senior journalist based in Mumbai. Views personal.)

1 Comment

MaryJane

Oct 29, 2025

Interesting how sports and games keep evolving in different directions. Sometimes it’s about tradition, sometimes it’s about quick reflexes and fun. A nice example from the gaming side is https://game-chickenroad.org/app/ – a mobile app where you guide a chicken through busy roads. Simple on the surface, but it really tests timing, focus and concentration, much like mastering any skill-based activity.

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