top of page

By:

Correspondent

21 August 2024 at 10:20:16 am

Imperilled Indians

The death of 13 Indians and the disappearance of three others in the unabating US-Iran conflict should end any illusion that this is merely another distant geopolitical crisis. For India, West Asia is not an abstract theatre of great-power rivalry but home to nearly nine million Indian expatriates. Every missile fired across the Strait of Hormuz carries the potential to claim Indian lives. While the Ministry of External Affairs has expressed concern, called for uninterrupted navigation and...

Imperilled Indians

The death of 13 Indians and the disappearance of three others in the unabating US-Iran conflict should end any illusion that this is merely another distant geopolitical crisis. For India, West Asia is not an abstract theatre of great-power rivalry but home to nearly nine million Indian expatriates. Every missile fired across the Strait of Hormuz carries the potential to claim Indian lives. While the Ministry of External Affairs has expressed concern, called for uninterrupted navigation and condemned attacks on commercial shipping, these statements are not enough. Indian seafarers have reportedly suffered the highest number of fatalities among all nationalities serving aboard commercial vessels caught in the conflict. Merchant sailors have become unwilling participants in a war that is not theirs. They continue to crew ships because global commerce cannot simply pause when missiles begin to fly. The burden of that reality now falls disproportionately on Indian workers. India’s foreign policy has long prided itself on strategic autonomy. In theory, that means avoiding entanglement in rival blocs while maintaining cordial relations with all sides. In practice, however, neutrality cannot become passivity when Indian citizens are paying with their lives. Protecting nationals abroad is not incompatible with diplomatic balance. It is among the first duties of any state. The conflict has also exposed a larger vulnerability. India’s dependence on the Gulf extends far beyond oil. Millions of Indians work across the region in construction, healthcare, shipping, logistics and services. Their labour underpins both Gulf economies and countless households back home. Every escalation places these workers at risk. Waiting until evacuations become necessary is an admission that diplomacy has already failed. New Delhi should therefore adopt a more assertive posture. It should intensify engagement not only with Washington and Tehran but also with Gulf capitals, pressing collectively for the protection of civilian shipping and maritime workers. It should work more actively through multilateral forums to reinforce international maritime law and freedom of navigation. Most importantly, it should make the safety of Indian nationals a central element of every diplomatic conversation concerning the conflict, rather than a humanitarian afterthought. India has legitimate strategic partnerships with the United States, Israel, Iran and the Arab Gulf states alike. Those relationships should provide leverage, not excuses for silence. Friends should be told uncomfortable truths when their actions endanger innocent civilians. The deaths of Indian seafarers are not collateral statistics to be acknowledged at weekly briefings before the news cycle moves on. They are evidence that global conflicts increasingly reach India’s doorstep through its citizens overseas. A nation aspiring to global influence cannot speak softly when its own people bear the costs of others’ wars. India has every reason to call for peace. It now has an even greater obligation to demand it with urgency, clarity and far greater diplomatic weight.

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.

Comments

bottom of page