top of page

By:

Correspondent

23 August 2024 at 4:29:04 pm

Chaos Diplomacy

Donald Trump has always understood one thing better than most modern politicians that markets respond to perception. In the grinding drama over Iran, the American president appears to have weaponised uncertainty itself. One day he hints at a diplomatic breakthrough with Tehran and signals the reopening of the Strait of Hormuz which causes investors to breathe a sigh of relief. However, hours later, he reverses course by declaring there is “no rush” for a deal and that restrictions will remain...

Chaos Diplomacy

Donald Trump has always understood one thing better than most modern politicians that markets respond to perception. In the grinding drama over Iran, the American president appears to have weaponised uncertainty itself. One day he hints at a diplomatic breakthrough with Tehran and signals the reopening of the Strait of Hormuz which causes investors to breathe a sigh of relief. However, hours later, he reverses course by declaring there is “no rush” for a deal and that restrictions will remain until Iran bends fully to American conditions. The markets wobble again Trump’s defenders may argue that unpredictability is a negotiating tactic. Henry Kissinger once cultivated strategic ambiguity during the Cold War. Richard Nixon perfected the so-called ‘madman theory’ to keep adversaries guessing. Yet Trump’s oscillations differ in both scale and intent. In recent weeks, analysts and ethics experts in the United States have raised uncomfortable questions about whether political messaging is increasingly shaping market volatility in ways that benefit insiders, speculators and politically connected traders. When geopolitical brinkmanship begins to resemble a financial instrument, public trust in democratic institutions erodes. Nearly a fifth of the world’s oil passes through Hormuz. A closure or blockade affects fuel prices in Mumbai as much as manufacturing costs in Shanghai or inflation in Berlin. Trump’s repeated shifts between escalation and reconciliation have had grave implications for India, which imports more than 80 percent of its crude oil requirements. Any prolonged instability in Hormuz translates directly into higher import bills, inflationary pressures and stress on the rupee while ratcheting prices of essentials. India has spent years carefully balancing its ties between Iran, the Gulf monarchies and the United States. Tehran remains important for connectivity projects such as Chabahar Port and for India’s access to Central Asia. But allies and adversaries alike are forced into a perpetual state of recalibration because American policy itself appears unstable. Trump’s Iran manoeuvring reflects a dangerous transformation in global politics, which is the merger of geopolitics with spectacle capitalism. International crises are increasingly consumed like market-moving entertainment. This may generate short-term leverage for him or even produce tactical victories at the negotiating table. Iran, under immense economic strain, reportedly agreeing in principle to surrender its highly enriched uranium stockpile is no small development. Yet diplomacy built on volatility carries long-term costs and lead to the weakening of institutions. Markets become addicted to chaos and chaos, once normalised, rarely remains controllable. The world’s largest economy cannot afford to conduct foreign policy like a reality television script, with cliffhangers designed to manipulate sentiment every news cycle. Great powers are supposed to provide stability, not amplify uncertainty for strategic theatrics. Trump may believe that time is on America’s side. But for an anxious global economy already strained by wars, inflation and fragmentation, time spent trapped in manufactured uncertainty is becoming increasingly expensive.

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