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23 August 2024 at 4:29:04 pm

Britannia Adrift

After years of Conservative infighting, Brexit-induced turmoil and the brief farce of Liz Truss’s premiership, Labour’s landslide victory under Keir Starmer appeared to herald a return to calm government in Britain. Now, less than two years later, Starmer has resigned, becoming the sixth British prime minister in a decade to leave office before completing a full term. The immediate trigger is the return of Andy Burnham to Westminster. His emphatic victory in the Makerfield by-election...

Britannia Adrift

After years of Conservative infighting, Brexit-induced turmoil and the brief farce of Liz Truss’s premiership, Labour’s landslide victory under Keir Starmer appeared to herald a return to calm government in Britain. Now, less than two years later, Starmer has resigned, becoming the sixth British prime minister in a decade to leave office before completing a full term. The immediate trigger is the return of Andy Burnham to Westminster. His emphatic victory in the Makerfield by-election electrified sections of the Labour Party, many of whom view the former Greater Manchester mayor as a more compelling and politically resilient figure than Starmer. Labour’s disappointing performance in local elections had only sharpened those doubts. But Britain faces a larger question. Why has the office of prime minister become so precarious? Starmer’s departure is further evidence that Britain has entered an age of political restlessness in which governments struggle to survive long enough to solve the problems they inherit. For much of the post-war era Britain was governed by two broad churches. While Labour and the Conservatives alternated in power, both accepted the legitimacy of the political system and possessed enough internal discipline to absorb dissent. Governments rose and fell at elections, not through a perpetual leadership crisis. That consensus has steadily frayed. The financial crisis of 2008 shattered faith in economic management. Brexit fractured both major parties and exposed profound divisions within British society. The years since have produced a succession of leaders who promised national renewal but found themselves overwhelmed by structural realities. David Cameron gambled on a referendum and lost. Theresa May tried to reconcile irreconcilable factions and failed. Boris Johnson mastered electoral politics but struggled with government. Liz Truss discovered that markets could be more ruthless than party rivals. Rishi Sunak inherited a depleted administration. Now Starmer joins the procession. The striking feature is that Britain’s instability has survived changes of both party and ideology. The Conservatives were punished for appearing incompetent. Labour is now being punished for appearing ineffective. Part of the problem lies in a political culture increasingly addicted to instant gratification. Governments are expected to deliver quick solutions to problems decades in the making. Starmer won office promising pragmatism and competence. Yet once in government, Labour often appeared less interested in confronting difficult truths than in managing headlines. Faced with pressure from different constituencies, it oscillated between technocratic caution and populist gestures. The result satisfied nobody. Voters seeking change found incrementalism. Voters seeking stability encountered drift. Meanwhile, Britain’s political landscape has fragmented. The Greens have chipped away at Labour’s progressive flank. Nigel Farage’s Reform UK has transformed itself into a potent force among disillusioned voters. The old two-party duopoly looks increasingly fragile. Electoral volatility has become the norm rather than the exception. The real challenge now is not who governs Britain. It is whether anyone can govern it effectively anymore.

The Soul of Bharat on the Big Screen

Mumbai: April 4, 2025, my heart feels heavier than it ever has. The news hit me like a monsoon storm—Manoj Kumar, the towering legend of Bollywood, the man who painted patriotism across our screens, is no more. At 87, he slipped away at Mumbai’s Kokilaben Dhirubhai Ambani Hospital, leaving behind a reel of memories that flicker in my mind like a projector that won’t stop spinning. As a movie fan who grew up with his films, I’m not just mourning an actor—I’m grieving the loss of a piece of my soul, a piece of India itself. They called him "Bharat Kumar," and oh, how he earned that name.


I remember the first time I saw ‘Upkar’ (1967). I was a kid, sprawled on the living room floor, eyes glued to our old TV. Manoj ji played Bharat, the farmer who gave everything—his dreams, his love—for his country’s soil. That song, “Mere Desh Ki Dharti,” wasn’t just a tune; it was a heartbeat, pulsing with pride and sacrifice. I’d hum it walking to school, feeling like I, too, could be that noble, that selfless. He won a National Film Award for that one, and rightly so—it wasn’t acting; it was living.

Then there was ‘Shaheed’ (1965), where he brought Bhagat Singh back to life. I’d sit there, popcorn forgotten, as he roared defiance against the British, his eyes blazing with a fire that could’ve lit up the darkest colonial night. It wasn’t just a film—it was a revolution on celluloid, a call to remember the blood that bought our freedom. Manoj ji didn’t just play the martyr; he became him, and every time I watch it, I feel that lump in my throat, that sting in my eyes. It’s no wonder it snagged three National Awards—his passion was a gift to us all.


Oh, and ‘Purab Aur Paschim’ (1970)—how do I even begin? He directed and starred as Bharat again, this time wrestling with the clash of East and West, showing us the beauty of our roots while the world tried to pull us away. I’d laugh at Saira Banu’s antics, then choke up when Manoj ji stood tall, singing “Hai Preet Jahan Ki Reet Sada.” It was a blockbuster, sure, but it was more—it was a love letter to India, penned in his signature hand-over-face style. That move, mocked by some, was his shield, his quiet strength, and I adored it.

And who could forget ‘Roti Kapda Aur Makaan’ (1974)? He directed and starred as Bharat—again, because who else could?—tackling poverty, injustice, and the gut-wrenching struggle for the basics of life. I’d watch, fists clenched, as he fought for the everyman, his voice cracking with raw emotion. It wasn’t just a movie; it was a mirror to our society, a cry for change. Seven Filmfare Awards across his career, they say, but this one felt like it carried them all—his heart bled through every frame.


Then there’s ‘Kranti’ (1981), the epic that had me on the edge of my seat. Manoj ji as the freedom fighter, leading Dilip Kumar and Hema Malini through a storm of rebellion—it was grand, it was gritty, it was everything Bollywood could be. “Zindagi Ki Na Toote Ladi” still echoes in my ears, a reminder of the battles he fought on screen, battles that felt so real I’d dream of joining the fight. He didn’t just direct that film; he sculpted a monument to resilience, and I’d cheer like a fool every time he outsmarted the British.


As I sit here, flipping through these memories, I can’t help but feel cheated. Manoj Kumar wasn’t just an actor or director—he was family. Born Harikrishan Goswami in 1937, he carried the Partition’s scars from Abbottabad to Delhi, turning pain into purpose. He gave us over 50 films in a career spanning four decades, snagging the Padma Shri in 1992 and the Dadasaheb Phalke Award in 2015—honors that felt too small for a man who gave India its cinematic soul. His last role in ‘Jai Hind’ (1999) might’ve flopped, but it didn’t dim his light in my eyes.


I’d read how he met Bhagat Singh’s mother before ‘Shaheed’, seeking her blessing—can you imagine the weight of that? Or how PM Lal Bahadur Shastri urged him to make ‘Upkar’ after the 1965 war, handing him “Jai Jawan Jai Kisan” like a sacred torch? That’s who he was—a man who didn’t just entertain but carried a nation’s dreams.


Manoj ji, you weren’t just “Bharat Kumar” to me—you were the uncle who taught me pride, the friend who shared my anger, the poet who sang my hopes. Your films weren’t movies; they were my childhood, my rebellion, my tears. I’ll miss you like I miss the India you dreamed of—flawed, fierce, and forever ours. Rest in peace, sir. Om Shanti.

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