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23 August 2024 at 4:29:04 pm

Monsoon Malaise

The substantial showers over Maharashtra this year have predictably demonstrated that it is not the skies but the government that has failed the state. The intense downpour once again exposed the frailty of the infrastructure that the ruling establishment has been celebrating. From Mumbai’s paralysed roads to the shocking deaths in open manholes sans guardrails, to the collapse of transport links between Mumbai and Pune, the rains have held up an unforgiving mirror to official complacency....

Monsoon Malaise

The substantial showers over Maharashtra this year have predictably demonstrated that it is not the skies but the government that has failed the state. The intense downpour once again exposed the frailty of the infrastructure that the ruling establishment has been celebrating. From Mumbai’s paralysed roads to the shocking deaths in open manholes sans guardrails, to the collapse of transport links between Mumbai and Pune, the rains have held up an unforgiving mirror to official complacency. For a city that witnesses monsoons every year, Mumbai’s monsoon paralysis can scarcely be described as inevitable. Roads have disappeared beneath the floodwaters and commuters have been left stranded. These are not natural disasters but administrative failures. The Pune-Mumbai Expressway, the state’s most important transport corridor, was partially shut after a concrete pillar fell near the newly inaugurated Missing Link section. Opened barely two months ago, the 13-km engineering showcase was presented as a symbol of Maharashtra’s modern infrastructure ambitions. It promised shorter travel times and smoother connectivity through the Sahyadris. Instead, the first meaningful encounter with the monsoon has raised uncomfortable questions over the quality of execution. Was there a comprehensive structural assessment of the project before it was opened? Were engineers confident that it could withstand the very weather conditions for which such infrastructure is designed? These are not partisan questions to be merely asked by the Opposition, but matters of public safety. More worrying is the cascading effect of these failures. With the Missing Link closed, the old Mumbai-Pune highway disrupted and Tamhini Ghat also rendered unusable, connectivity between Maharashtra’s political and commercial capitals has been severely compromised. Legislators themselves reportedly face uncertainty over reaching Mumbai for the ongoing Assembly session. If the state’s elected representatives struggle to move across Maharashtra, one can only imagine the plight of ordinary citizens whose livelihoods depend on functioning roads, reliable transport and basic civic services. Infrastructure earns its reputation during crises, not during inaugurations. Roads are built for rainy days and bridges are meant to withstand storms. Drainage systems exist precisely because monsoons are neither rare nor unexpected. Maharashtra has not been surprised by an eclipse or an earthquake. It has been visited by the same seasonal rains that return with remarkable punctuality every year. Invoking climate change cannot become an alibi for poor planning, weak oversight and inadequate maintenance. Resilient infrastructure is the minimum standard that citizens deserve. The first weeks of the monsoon have delivered an unmistakable verdict. Maharashtra’s infrastructure has failed its annual examination. The government can no longer hide behind the clouds. Monsoons are annual appointments, not surprise inspections. If the state cannot prepare for the one disaster it knows is coming every year, it forfeits the right to claim competence.

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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