The silence of occupied ones.

Author's Note

This essay began with a simple observation.

India possesses increasingly sophisticated statistics concerning sexual violence, crimes against women, child protection, and criminal justice. Yet even the most detailed datasets can only record incidents that enter official systems. They cannot fully capture incidents that remain undisclosed, unreported, withdrawn, suppressed, or hidden within private spaces.

The purpose of this essay is not to explain all sexual violence or all underreporting through a single framework.

India's social reality is too diverse for such claims.

Rather, this essay asks a narrower question:

Can some patterns of underreporting become easier to understand when viewed through the lenses of social valuation, reputation, family standing, economic dependency, and perceptions of exclusivity?

The framework explored here is therefore interpretive rather than universal. It is intended to help organise observations already present in existing research, public statistics, and institutional studies. Readers are invited to evaluate the evidence and reach their own conclusions.

Introduction: The Numbers We Seldom See 

Every year, government agencies publish thousands of pages documenting crime in India.

The National Crime Records Bureau (NCRB) tracks crimes against women, crimes against children, rape cases, kidnapping, trafficking, domestic violence, and dozens of related categories. Researchers supplement these records through household surveys, victimisation studies, health surveys, judicial analyses, and sociological investigations.

Collectively, these sources provide an increasingly detailed picture of sexual violence in India.

Yet every statistic contains an important limitation.

It can only count what entered the record.

A police report can document an assault that was reported.

It cannot document the child who never disclosed abuse.

It cannot document the woman who feared social consequences more than legal injustice.

It cannot document the family that quietly concluded that survival was safer than confrontation.

In criminology, this gap between recorded crime and experienced crime is often described as the "dark figure" of crime.

The existence of that gap raises an uncomfortable question.

Why do so many incidents remain invisible?

There is no single answer.

Trauma may play a role.

Fear may play a role.

Economic dependency may play a role.

Distrust of institutions may play a role.

Family structures, community pressures, social expectations, and cultural norms may all play a role.

This essay examines one small part of that larger puzzle.

Bringing the Numbers Home

Large statistics have a peculiar effect on human perception.

The larger the number becomes, the easier it is to imagine the problem belongs somewhere else.

When readers hear that nearly thirty thousand rape cases are registered nationally in a given year, many unconsciously place the issue in another district, another city, another social class, or another family.

The problem becomes statistical.

The victims become abstract.

The emotional distance grows.

Yet NCRB data continues to record roughly thirty thousand rape cases annually, while total crimes against women remain well above four hundred thousand cases per year.¹

These are not small numbers.

Nor are they numbers that can realistically be confined to isolated communities.

The first lesson of the data is therefore simple:

Sexual violence is not somebody else's problem.

Its scale alone makes that assumption increasingly difficult to sustain.

The Reporting Paradox

Consider two crimes.

A motorcycle is stolen.

A young girl's bodily autonomy is violated.

The first incident is usually reported quickly.

The reasons are obvious.

Insurance claims may depend upon reporting.

Recovery efforts depend upon reporting.

Administrative processes depend upon reporting.

The victim's reputation is rarely questioned.

The theft is understood as a wrong committed against them.

The second incident often unfolds differently.

Disclosure may trigger scrutiny.

Questions may arise regarding behavior, timing, relationships, clothing, family standing, future marriage prospects, or personal credibility.²

The offender is asked what happened.

The victim is frequently asked why it happened.

This contrast does not explain underreporting by itself.

However, it suggests that reporting decisions are shaped by more than legal procedure.

They are also shaped by the social costs attached to disclosure.

What the Help-Seeking Data Reveals

The strongest evidence that official records represent only part of reality comes from help-seeking research.

Analysis of NFHS-5 data found that only 14.2 per cent of women experiencing physical and/or sexual intimate partner violence sought help.³

The significance of this finding extends beyond domestic violence.

It demonstrates something more fundamental.

Experiencing harm does not automatically produce disclosure.

The assumption that victims naturally seek institutional intervention is not supported by available evidence.

Many do not.

Understanding why they do not may be as important as understanding the violence itself.

The Stranger We Fear and the People We Know

Public imagination often portrays sexual violence through a familiar image.

The stranger.

The predator lurking in darkness.

The unknown threat.

The NCRB data repeatedly tells a different story.

In approximately 94–96 per cent of reported rape cases, the offender is known to the survivor.⁴

The implication is significant.

Reporting a stranger disrupts very little beyond a criminal investigation.

Reporting a relative, employer, neighbour, acquaintance, intimate partner, teacher, or family friend may disrupt an entire social network.

The emotional cost rises dramatically.

This reality also challenges a comforting illusion.

The greatest dangers are not always located outside the community.

They frequently emerge from within it.

Why Silence Can Sometimes Appear Rational

From the outside, silence often appears irrational.

Why would anyone avoid justice?

Yet many victims are not choosing between justice and injustice.

They are choosing between competing risks.

A child may fear disbelief.

A woman may fear abandonment.

A family may fear social isolation.

An employee may fear economic retaliation.

A dependent household may fear challenging someone who controls resources, employment, influence, or protection.⁵

Seen from this perspective, silence does not necessarily indicate the absence of harm.

Sometimes it indicates the presence of consequences attached to disclosure.

The question therefore shifts.

Instead of asking:

"Why didn't they report?"

We may need to ask:

"What risks did reporting create?"

Can a Property Lens Explain Part of This?

At this point, caution becomes essential.

This essay does not propose a universal theory.

It does not argue that all families think alike.

It does not argue that all communities share identical values.

Nor does it claim that women are literally treated as property.

The question is narrower.

Can certain social responses be partially understood through a framework resembling ownership, exclusivity, reputation management, and social valuation?

Several observations suggest this possibility deserves consideration.

Research continues to document the influence of purity norms, family honour, marriageability concerns, and reputation-based social judgments in various settings.⁶

Informal "marry-the-rapist" proposals, though widely criticised, reveal how violations can sometimes be interpreted less as assaults on autonomy and more as disruptions requiring social repair.⁷

Field reports and institutional studies have also documented concerns that disclosure may affect not only victims but siblings, parents, and wider family networks.⁸

None of these observations proves a universal social rule.

Taken together, however, they suggest that social valuation may occasionally influence decisions surrounding disclosure.

Whether one accepts this interpretation or not, it offers one possible explanation for patterns that otherwise appear difficult to understand.

The Adult Landscape

The dynamics do not disappear in adulthood.

They often become more complicated.

NCRB records have repeatedly shown substantial numbers of rape prosecutions involving allegations linked to false promises of marriage.⁹

Each case possesses unique facts and must be evaluated individually.

Nevertheless, the phenomenon demonstrates the continuing importance of marriage as a social institution shaping expectations surrounding intimacy.

Similarly, women in dating relationships may fear suspicion.

Married women may fear family disruption.

Disclosure can become entangled with concerns extending far beyond the assault itself.¹⁰

Again, the argument is not that these outcomes always occur.

The argument is simply that the possibility of such outcomes may influence reporting behaviour.

What would a change look like?

If underreporting is influenced partly by social expectations, then legal reform alone cannot solve the problem.

Cultural reform matters as well.

A survivor's worth should not diminish because a crime occurred.

A sibling's future should not depend upon another person's victimisation.

A family's reputation should not outweigh a child's well-being.

A partner's first response should be support rather than suspicion.

Responsibility should remain where it belongs—with the offender.

These principles are not revolutionary.

They are extensions of a simple idea:

What happened to a person should never become more important than the person to whom it happened.

Conclusion

The official statistics tell an important story.

But they do not tell the whole story.

They record incidents that entered the system.

They cannot fully record every fear, every dependency, every calculation, every relationship, and every social pressure that prevented an incident from entering the record at all.

This essay has not attempted to explain all underreporting in India.

Such a claim would ignore the complexity of a society containing an extraordinary diversity of culture, class, caste, religion, geography, and lived experience.

Instead, it has explored a narrower possibility.

Those ideas concerning reputation, honour, exclusivity, family standing, and social valuation may deserve closer attention as part of a larger conversation about why so many incidents remain hidden.

If that possibility is even partially correct, then meaningful reform requires more than better laws.

It requires building conditions in which seeking justice no longer threatens belonging, dignity, security, or social survival.

Only then can the distance between recorded reality and lived reality begin to narrow.

End. 

 Endnotes

1. NCRB, "Crime in India" Reports, Chapter 3A (Crime Against Women), various years.

2. Research on victim-blaming, stigma, and secondary victimisation; BPRD and related studies.

3. NFHS-5; Springer analysis of help-seeking behaviour among women experiencing violence.

4. NCRB known-offender statistics; Parliamentary replies; NCRB summaries.

5. Springer, CJP, UNICEF, KSCF, and related research on barriers to reporting.

6. Research concerning purity norms, marriageability, honour, and social valuation in India.

7. Judicial commentary and analyses concerning "marry-the-rapist" proposals.

8. BPRD, UNICEF, and field research concerning family-level consequences of disclosure.

9. NCRB and Ministry of Home Affairs statistics concerning rape prosecutions involving promises of marriage.

10. Research on disclosure barriers among partnered and married women.

Regular cleaning and gentle maintenance are essential to keep a wooden bed looking fresh, extending its service life and preserving its natural texture. Dust, stains and daily grime can gradually accumulate on a wooden bed, yet improper cleaning methods may damage the wood finish or cause discoloration. Following simple, targeted steps will help you care for your wooden bed safely and effectively.

Start with daily dry cleaning, the most basic step for a wooden bed. Use a soft microfiber cloth or a feather duster to wipe away surface dust from the headboard, bed frame, side rails and legs. Pay extra attention to gaps and carved details, where dust tends to build up easily. Do not use rough brushes or scrub pads, as they can leave fine scratches on the wood surface. It is recommended to do this light dusting two to three times a week to stop dirt from settling deeply into the grain of the wooden bed.

For light stains and sticky marks on the wooden bed, prepare a mild homemade cleaning solution. Mix a small amount of neutral soap with warm water, then dip a soft cloth into the liquid and wring it out thoroughly until it is just damp. Wipe the stained area gently along the direction of the wood grain. Never apply excessive water directly to the wooden bed, because prolonged moisture can make solid wood warp, swell or even develop mold. After removing the stains, use another dry cloth to dry the surface right away. This method works well for fingerprints, drink splashes and minor food residues.

When dealing with tough stains on the wooden bed, different treatments apply based on the stain type. For water rings left by cups, let the area air dry first, then gently rub with a tiny bit of wood wax. For greasy spots, use a cloth dampened with a little diluted white vinegar, which cuts through grease without harming most wood finishes. Avoid harsh chemical cleaners, bleach or strong alcohol products. These corrosive substances will fade paint, erode protective coatings and ruin the natural luster of the wooden bed.

Deep maintenance should be done every few months to protect your wooden bed. After thorough cleaning and full drying, apply a layer of furniture wax or wood conditioner evenly across the frame. The wax forms a thin protective film that locks in moisture, prevents the wood from drying out and cracking, and restores a soft sheen. Let the wax sit for a few minutes, then buff the surface with a clean dry cloth to achieve a smooth finish. This routine is especially important for wooden beds placed in dry rooms or areas with direct sunlight.

Additionally, place small anti-slip pads under the legs of the wooden bed. They reduce friction when moving the bed and prevent floor moisture from seeping into the wood. Keep the wooden bed away from air conditioners, heaters and direct sunlight, as extreme temperature changes and strong UV rays will accelerate aging and fading.

In short, caring for a wooden bed relies on frequent light cleaning, mild detergents and regular wax maintenance. With proper daily care, your wooden bed will maintain its elegant appearance and sturdy structure for many years.

As someone who wants to tell stories through movies I often find myself looking at the work of filmmakers who're not afraid to try new things. Filmmakers like Vikramaditya Motwane who do not chase what is popular and who see movies as a way to explore ideas. Whenever I think about people who are trying things in Indian movies one name always comes to mind: Vikramaditya Motwane.

What I like about Vikramaditya Motwane is not the different kinds of stories he tells. It is the way he thinks about movies. Looking at the movies he has made feels like looking at a list of movies and more like reading a book about how to be creative. Every movie asks a question. Every story is about a world. Every movie feels like it was made because Vikramaditya Motwane was excited about the idea not because people would pay to see it.

In an industry that often rewards people for doing the thing over and over Vikramaditya Motwane has built a career on trying new things.. That is why he is one of the most interesting filmmakers working in India today.

What I like most about Vikramaditya Motwane is that his movies never feel like he is just trying to be different. They come from a love of storytelling and a curiosity about movies. Whether a movie is a success or not you can always feel the honesty behind it. In an era where many filmmakersre busy chasing what is popular Vikramaditya Motwane seems more interested in chasing ideas.

Most filmmakers would have been happy after making a movie like Udaan. Udaan was an very personal story about a bad relationship between a father and son. It was not an flashy movie. It was real and emotional and painful. Years later people still see themselves in the story because Vikramaditya Motwane understood something that many writers do not: the personal stories often become the most universal.

Then came Lootera, a movie that felt like a movie and more like poetry on screen. It was inspired by a story by O. Henry. It showed a softer and more romantic side of Vikramaditya Motwanes filmmaking. The silence, the longing and the heartbreak felt like they were made with patience and care. It remains one of the beautiful movies Hindi cinema has produced.

That is the thing about Vikramaditya Motwane. He never stays in one place.

While the world was busy thinking about superheroes with powers and fancy clothes he gave India Bhavesh Joshi Superhero. A superhero who felt like one of us. No special powers. No fancy clothes. Just an ordinary man trying to fight against what's wrong in an extraordinary way. Today it remains one of the most unique superhero movies made in the country because it understood that being a hero does not come from special powers. It comes from being brave.

Then he made Trapped.

A thriller about a man stuck inside an apartment with no food, no water and no way out. On paper it sounds like a movie to make. In Vikramaditya Motwanes hands it became one of the exciting psychological experiences in modern Hindi cinema. Few filmmakers can hold an audiences attention with such an idea. Fewer can do it well.

Then there was AK vs AK.

A dark comedy thriller that blurred the line between what's real and what is not so confidently that you never knew where one ended and the other began. It was weird, risky and self-aware and unlike anything mainstream Hindi cinema had tried before. The kind of movie that reminds you that movies can still surprise you.

Vikramaditya Motwanes contribution to storytelling goes beyond directing.

The more I watch his movies the more I realize that his greatest strength is not just directing or writing. It is curiosity. He approaches every story as if he is exploring a place. A prison drama does not feel like a crime story. A superhero movie does not feel like a superhero movie. A thriller does not feel like a thriller. He finds a way to look at familiar genres and that is what makes his work stand out.

As a writer and creator Vikramaditya Motwane has consistently shown an ability to find ideas where most people do not even think of looking. His writing is not interested in giving audiences answers. Instead it invites them into worlds filled with flawed characters, moral ambiguity and uncomfortable truths.

That ability to build worlds is perhaps his strength. Whether it is the city of Mumbai, the loneliness of a trapped man, the golden age of Indian cinema or the mind of a hero Vikramaditya Motwane makes every world feel real. His stories do not feel made up. They feel discovered.

You can see that clearly in Sacred Games, the show that became a sensation and changed the way people think about Indian streaming content. It was not a crime thriller. It was an exploration of politics, religion, power, violence and destiny. It trusted audiences to think connect the dots and engage with storytelling. Long before Indian streaming became popular Sacred Games showed the world what Indian creators were capable of.

Then came Jubilee, a love letter to cinema and perhaps one of the beautifully realized period dramas produced in India. Of glorifying the film industry it explored the dreams, ambitions, betrayals and sacrifices that helped build it. Watching Jubilee felt like stepping into another era. It was not a series about cinema. It was a series about people who dedicated their lives to cinema.

With Black Warrant he once again proved why he is one of the most fearless storytellers working today. Set inside the walls of Tihar Jail the series does not rely on sensationalism. Instead it dives into the psychology of prisoners jailers, power structures and a system that often blurs the line between justice and punishment. Vikramaditya Motwane takes a world that most people only hear about in headlines and turns it into a human story filled with moral dilemmas, tension and uncomfortable truths. What makes Black Warrant so compelling is that it does not ask the audience to choose sides. It simply presents a world where right and wrong're rarely black and white.

What separates Vikramaditya Motwane from many of his contemporaries is his thinking. He looks at cinema differently. He understands that storytelling does not have to fit inside a fixed template. One project can be intimate and emotional. The next can be dark and disturbing. The one after that can be experimental, satirical or completely unconventional.

That unpredictability is what makes his work exciting.

You never enter a Vikramaditya Motwane project knowing what you are going to get.. You know you will enter a world that has been carefully imagined thoughtfully written and honestly created.

As a filmmaker there is something else I have learned from Vikramaditya Motwane.

He taught me that if you truly believe in a story tell it.

Do not spend months wondering whether audiences will like it. Do not keep asking whether it is commercial enough. Do not kill an idea because someone else thinks it will not work. If a story excites you if you can already see it playing in your head like a movie then it deserves to be told.

When I look at Vikramaditya Motwanes movies I do not see someone chasing what is popular. I see someone chasing ideas. Nobody was asking for a movie like Trapped. Nobody expected a superhero movie like Bhavesh Joshi Superhero. Nobody imagined something unconventional as AK vs AK.. He made them because he believed those stories deserved to exist.

That is perhaps the lesson his work offers to young writers and filmmakers. Creativity becomes weaker when it is driven by fear. The moment you start creating to please others your voice begins to disappear. Vikramaditya Motwanes career is proof that great cinema often comes from trusting your instincts embracing risks and having the courage to tell stories that genuinely excite you.

Another thing I admire about Vikramaditya Motwane is that he never seems afraid of being different. Many filmmakers spend their careers trying to predict what audiences want. Vikramaditya Motwane appears interested in discovering what fascinates him as a storyteller. That honesty reflects in his work. Whether people love a project immediately or discover its value years later the movies never feel compromised.

As a writer or filmmaker that is an inspiring lesson. Not every story has to be designed for mass approval. Sometimes the job of an artist is simply to tell the story that keeps them awake at night. If you believe in it enough chances are somebody will too.

His work reminds me that movies are not a business. They are also an art form.. Sometimes the most memorable movies are the ones that nobody expected to be made in the first place.

In a film industry that is increasingly driven by formulas Vikramaditya Motwane continues to trust ideas.

He trusts writing.

He trusts characters.

He trusts audiences.

Importantly he trusts his own creative instincts.

That may sound simple. It is one of the hardest things an artist can do.

His movies are proof that cinema does not have to stay boxes. It can be personal like Udaan poetic like Lootera socially relevant like Bhavesh Joshi Superhero, like Trapped wildly experimental like AK vs AK epic like Sacred Games nostalgic like Jubilee or morally complex like Black Warrant.

Yet somehow all of them feel unmistakably like Vikramaditya Motwane.

For me he is not one of Indias most experimental filmmakers. He is a reminder of what happens when an artist chooses curiosity over comfort, ideas over formulas and passion, over predictability.

Perhaps that is why whenever I think about the future of Indian cinema I do not just look at Vikramaditya Motwanes movies.

I study them.

Why does religion appear in some crimes?

Not religion as a simple “cause.” That would be too easy, and probably too careless. Human beings rarely commit crimes because of one clean motive. Crime usually grows out of pressure, fear, ego, control, grievance, or desperation.

But religion does appear. That too, in a paradigm.

Sometimes it appears as identity. Sometimes as community. Sometimes as obedience. Sometimes as guilt. Sometimes, it stems from the fear of something worse. In other cases, it is not faith itself that matters, but how they corrupt faith when they want to carry out deeds that surely are “sins.”

When religion enters a crime, the question should not be: “Did belief make this happen?”

The better question is: “What role did belief play in the offender’s mind, the victim’s vulnerability, or the justification that followed?”

Was religion being sincerely followed, selectively interpreted, manipulated, performed, or weaponized?

This is where criminology has to be careful. It should not attack faith. It should not excuse harm. It should not turn complex and sometimes rigid belief systems into headlines. But it also cannot ignore the moments where sacred language is a ruse.

I am still thinking through this question, and I would be interested in hearing different views and experiences.

When religion appears in crime, what is worth noting?

Written By: Karma Gray
Founder & Editor-in-Chief, The Crime Ledger

​As a 19 year old student from Assam, my life from the earliest days of my education until completing my 12th grade under the state board has been governed by a simple, unspoken contract: you study hard, you take the test, and you are graded on your merit. In all those years, I never encountered a school exam paper leak. Not a single mid-term, not a simple weekly class test. The sanctity of the examination hall was absolute.

​But stepping outside the boundaries of a state board school and looking at the colossal machinery of the Government of India, and that sanctity crumbles into dust. Preparing for NEET, widely revered and feared as one of the toughest entrance exams in the world, you believe you are stepping into a flawless, meritocratic arena. Instead, you walk into a rigged casino where the house is broken and merit is a commodity sold to the highest bidder.

​Today, we are forced to swallow a quantum, fancy terminology, by bureaucrats lounging on comfy sofas in their air-conditioned rooms: ‘Re-NEET’.

It sounds slick. It sounds efficient. It is incredibly easy for the National Testing Agency (NTA) and cabinet ministers to issue an impromptu notification declaring a re-examination.

But what about the students? What about us?

​To understand the current rot, we have to trace the timeline of the NTA. Formed in 2017, NTA was heavily marketed as a centralized, foolproof, premier autonomous testing organisation. Yet, its structural foundation was inherently flawed. Unlike the Union Public Service Commission (UPSC), which is a constitutional body with sovereign administrative teeth, the NTA was merely registered as a "Society" under the Indian Societies Registration Act of 1860.

​This is not just a bureaucratic technicality, it is the root cause of the current catastrophe. It created a legal heavyweight tasked with a national mandate but built on a lightweight foundation. The NTA lacks a permanent, specialized cadre. It relies heavily on contractual employees, temporary deputations and outsourced private vendors for exam center logistics. By adopting a "Mega Exam" model testing upwards of 2.3+ million students on a single day across thousands of centres, the NTA designed a system with a catastrophic single point of failure. If one vendor compromises a digital lock or if one transportation link is bought off, the entire national framework collapses.

​And collapse, it did. The 2026 NEET-UG paper leak is not an anomaly, it is the inevitable climax of years of systemic vulnerabilities, unchecked discrepancies and a glaring lack of a "culture of secrecy."

​When an exam paper leaks, it is not a victimless administrative glitch. It is a violent violation of distributive justice. Millions of youths across the country lock themselves in their rooms for years. They sacrifice their sleep cycles pulling those all-nighters, abandon their social circles, isolate themselves from family and friends, and surrender the best years of their youth or teenage years to a syllabus. ​And then, there are the families.

The NTA promised to refund the ₹1,700 registration fee after the recent cancellation. This gesture is so tone-deaf it borders on the offensive. A refund of mere seventeen hundred rupees means absolutely nothing to a family that has been hollowed out by the disguised costs of this exam.

​What about the families who took high-interest loans just to send their child to a coaching hub? What about the fathers who ate only one meal a day to afford the monthly rent of their ward's cramped PG? What about the parents who mortgaged their ancestral homes, or the mothers who pawned their wedding jewelry to carry the expenses of their child's education?

​All these million sacrifices, the all-nighters, the deteriorating health, the anxiety, and the sheer grit all of it is wiped out in a single stroke because somewhere in the country, a "rich dad" decided his child didn't need to study. Backed by the brute power of wealth, these privileged few pay wholesome, astronomical amounts in the black market to secure a leaked question paper. Merit is assassinated by money. The rich buy their way into white-collared medical professions, while the deserving, impoverished student is handed a "Re-NEET" notification.

​The psychological toll of this systemic betrayal is catastrophic. Some students appear for NEET merely for the experience, but the vast majority are deeply serious, emotionally invested hard-workers. Imagine the emotional whiplash: a student finishes the grueling paper, walks out of the exam hall, takes a deep breath and looks up at the sky, making plans for the upcoming days. They finally believe the year-long lock-ups are over, and they can sit back and relax. Weeks later, they are told they have to do it all over again.

​For many, the fear of not making the cut-off a second time is paralyzing. They lose their confidence. They lose the momentum that took a whole year to build. And for a drop-year student, a re-exam isn't just an inconvenience but it feels like a life sentence.

​The despair is not just metaphorical but fatal. According to recent investigative analyses, nearly 93 NEET aspirants have died by committing unalive, in India over the past five years. The year 2025 recorded a horrifying 32 reported NEET associated suicides. In 2026, we have already witnessed at least 14 young lives extinguished, with 5 deaths reported immediately following the cancellation of the May 3rd NEET UG exam. These are not just statistics. These were 18-20 years old, overwhelmed by a grief they could not articulate. They chose to unalive themselves because the system made them feel entirely worthless.

​I am not an A-grade student claiming I could have topped the exam if not for the Re-NEET. I know my own credibilities and potential. But I have witnessed the suffering of our community. I see my friends suffocating under the pressure. As an aspirant, my reality, primarily our reality, is a continuous loop of giving entrances back-to-back, every Sunday. Taking on the stress of new admissions, agonizing over where to go and where not to. ​If Plan A fails, what is Plan B? If not Plan B, what is Plan C? If BSc, where do we go, government or private institute ? What if general BSc yields nothing in life? Will CUET scores save us? What if the Re-NEET paper is vastly tougher and we can't clear it? These questions haunt our every waking moment and yet, we are terrified to raise our voices because speaking out might mean gambling with the fragile remnants of our careers.

​In an attempt to salvage whatever shred of credibility it has left, the state has now resorted to unprecedented, almost dystopian measures. For the June 21st, 2026, re-test, the Indian Air Force has been deployed. Mi-17 helicopters are being used to transport the locked NEET-UG question papers to 18 regional hubs across the country.

​The media and government officials might attempt to spin this as a flex, a showcase of unyielding commitment to security. But let’s call it what it is: ‘an absolute, undeniable national shame’.

​The military forces of the largest democracy in the world, trained to secure our borders and protect our sovereignty, are now running logistics for high school biology, chemistry and physics papers. The deployment of the Air Force does not prove the system is strong, it proves the civilian administrative structure is so thoroughly corrupt, incompetent, and hollowed out that it cannot be trusted to drive a truck from point A to point B without someone taking a bribe. It is a glaring admission of institutional failure.

​Whenever a systemic tragedy strikes in India, the political vultures are never far behind. Education and Health are on the Concurrent List, meaning they are the joint responsibility of the State and the Center. However, this shared responsibility simply provides a convenient loophole for endless political blame games. The ruling BJP deflects, the opposition attacks, and the students are caught in the crossfire of this national agenda.

​And amid this chaos, an entirely new left-wing, non-registered front bursts onto the scene. Enters the Cockroach Janta Party (CJP), led by Abhijeet Dipke. The name is ironically suitable, wherever something is rotting, you will undoubtedly find a cockroach. We saw those massive, theatrical protests at Jantar Mantar and Lucknow. We saw masks, megaphones, and screaming demands for the resignation of Education Minister Dharmendra Pradhan.

​But I’d pause and ask: Where was Abhijeet Dipke before this? Where were these opportunistic outfits when other profound irregularities were ravaging the youth of this country? Where were they during the agonising state-level recruitment scams that swallowed the futures of thousands? Where were they during the nationwide outcries against crimes on women? They suddenly appear with an Instagram handle and a megaphone because a national crisis is prime real estate for a political upsurge.

​Being a collective of supposedly bright intellectuals, why has this front not sat down to draft a resolution? Where is the whitepaper offering a better structural framework for the NTA? Why is the focus strictly on the revolution of optics rather than the resolution of the crisis? They protest to go viral, not to fix the leak. These are opportunists, plain and simple. And while the politicians spar and the activists grandstand, the student, the one actually bleeding on the exam sheet, persists to suffer in silence.

​Who must take accountability? It is easy to shout slogans and tell the government to go back. I am not an agent of the left wing or the right wing. I am a student. My concern is strictly accountability.

​Yes, the NTA has failed profoundly as a governing body and should be entirely scrapped. The lawmakers and the front liners need to engineer a decentralized, permanent, and technologically robust evaluation framework.

​But the bitter truth is that it is not just the government or a political party that is accountable. It is the people.

The system is corrupt because the citizens who participate in it are corrupt.

The rich fathers who purchase these leaked papers are part of our society.

The middle-men who facilitate the trade are our neighbors.

We point fingers at the NTA, but we must also look at the moral decay within our own society that creates a thriving market for stolen merit.

​India proudly boasts of being the world's largest democracy. We build magnificent infrastructure and aim for the stars. But a democracy is not measured by its elections, it is measured by its education. And right now, what is failing miserably in India is its commitment to literacy and fairness.

​Until the system is completely overhauled, until the wealthy can no longer buy the seats that the poor have bled for and until the government realises that a student’s life is worth more than a rescheduled date on a calendar, we will remain a nation of betrayed dreams. We will keep watching our brightest minds fade into the dark.

One of the simplest ways to make cities greener is by increasing green spaces. Parks, roadside trees, and rooftop gardens not only beautify urban areas but also improve air quality, reduce heat, and provide habitats for wildlife. In addition, encouraging people to walk or cycle instead of using cars can greatly reduce air pollution and traffic congestion. Safe sidewalks and dedicated cycling lanes can make this shift easier and more appealing. Another powerful way to improve sustainability is by enhancing public transportation. Efficient and affordable buses, trains, and metro systems reduce the number of private vehicles on the road, which in turn lowers air pollution and greenhouse gas emissions. Waste management is also an area where cities can make simple yet impactful changes. Promoting recycling, composting organic waste, and reducing single-use plastics can significantly cut down the amount of waste sent to landfills. Public awareness campaigns can educate citizens on how to sort waste properly and adopt more sustainable habits in daily life.Public awareness campaigns can educate citizens on how to sort waste properly and adopt more sustainable habits. Similarly, water conservation is equally important. Simple measures such as fixing leaks, using water-efficient fixtures, and collecting rainwater can help conserve this vital resource. Cities can also treat and reuse wastewater for purposes such as irrigation and industrial use.

Lastly, community involvement is key to long-term success. When residents are informed and motivated, they are more likely to support and participate in environmental initiatives. Local governments can organise clean-up drives, tree-planting events, and sustainability workshops to engage citizens.

In conclusion, cities do not need drastic changes to become more environmentally friendly. By focusing on practical steps like improving transportation, expanding green spaces, managing waste effectively, conserving energy and water, and involving the community, urban areas can move toward a more sustainable future. Even small actions, when combined, can create a significant positive impact on the environment

We haven't spoken in all that time. The years passed quietly, the way years always do. Life moved forward without asking for permission. People came and went. New memories replaced old ones. The world carried on as though nothing had happened.

Most days, so did I.

Yet every now and then, a feeling returns. Not a memory exactly, and not quite pain. More like an old question that refuses to be answered. It comes back to remind me of what could have been, what should have been, and what is.

There are things we cannot change. Moments we cannot relive. And there are people we cannot forget.

The question is why. 

Why do we mourn things that no longer exist? Why do we romanticize old wounds? Why do we continue to carry people within us long after they have stopped being a part of our lives? Cause we love them? So the question then becomes:

What is love?

Humanity has been asking that question for centuries. I did not know the answer then, and I do not know it now.

Is love sharing the first thought of the morning and the last thought before sleep? Is it talking until sleep interrupts the conversation? Is it travelling miles for a fleeting glimpse of someone?

Is it chasing a single message as though it contains something essential? Is it staring at a photograph and finding yourself lost in details you have already memorized?

Is it seeing someone years later on a crowded street and feeling time collapse for a moment? Watching them smile, watching them walk away, and realizing that some part of you still remembers exactly how it felt?

Is it waiting an entire year for a birthday, not because the date matters, but because it gives you an excuse to hear their voice for two minutes?

Is that love?

Or is love something quieter than that?

Is it carrying a person within you for so long that they begin to appear in every thought, every memory, every experience that follows?

Sometimes I wonder if love is not just missing someone.

Sometimes I wonder if it is missing who you were when they were around.

What happens when you try to love someone else and realize you are no longer the same person? What happens when the version of you that loved them exists only in memory?

And if guilt follows, who exactly are you betraying?

Them?

Or the self that once believed they would always matter?

When you delete old messages and photographs, are you erasing traces of another person, or traces of yourself? Are you letting go of them, or letting go of the person you became because of them?

We often speak about losing people, but rarely about losing ourselves.

We lose trust.

We lose certainty.

Sometimes we lose the ability to love as freely as we once did.

We avoid people, places, songs, streets, and versions of ourselves because they remind us of feelings we no longer know what to do with.

We spend years mourning the loss of a person while ignoring the loss that happened alongside it.

The loss of the self that loved.

And perhaps that is what confuses me most.

Even after all this time, I am no longer certain what it is that I miss.

Do I miss her? Or do I miss the person I was when I loved her? I do not know.

Maybe that is why the grief remains.

Not because I cannot accept the loss, but biiecause I still cannot name it.

All I know is that something was lost.

And after all these years, I am still trying to understand what it was.

What I had witnessed at one stall was not an isolated sight. According to government estimates, India generates around 4 million tonnes of plastic waste every year, and a large share of it comes from single-use items that are used for only a few minutes but persist in the environment for decades. Looking at those overflowing containers, I couldn't help but wonder: if one sugarcane juice stall could produce so much waste in a single day, what would the combined impact of thousands of such stalls across the country look like?

In the last few months of this year, we encountered the paper leak in NEET UG, probed the absurdity in the UPSC CSE prelims exam, followed by the OMR-based evaluation or ill-trained CBSE paper evaluation—everything without any large adminstative accountability. Education has no caste nor any religious identity that may help to influence elections, leaving many students without any options, with a lot of uncertainty, and simply a sense of anxiety and many "what ifs."

There are many striking challenges across our education system, and I personally don't know much holistically except for the surface cases of a problematic structure. But as a student, I very well understand many instances which caused trouble, confusion, frustration, and a lot of anxiety to me. Furthermore, I closely observe this through my friends, my younger brother, and a lot from a girl in a basti, whom I initially went to teach near my college.

If I am honest, I initially only went to "collect a certificate" for a resume point, though it was a heart-rending yet very evaluative journey spread over two years. I initially went half-hearted—a privileged kid who found the basti very difficult to walk through—to a period where I went being ashamed about my insignificant problems, where I learnt that being sad is a luxury.

I am someone who acquired anxiety very early in my childhood, as there was always a difference between my realities and my expectations, where I simply often wasted many study days because I was sad, overwhelmed, and missed tons of opportunities because I was fearful. I always felt, "what if I make a mistake?" I was indecisive and utterly confused.

While being stagnant in these feelings, I completed my 10th and 12th grade, got into the University of Delhi, and now will start my master's in the field of my choice. It was never a smooth ride; it was extremely painful, if that can be the correct adjective to describe it.

It took me a series of therapy sessions to comprehend it all and position them into chapters. Now, I often regret many choices I made. But imagine a kid who grew up in a village, never went to a fancy school, is extremely anxious about his various identities, and has no one to guide him in any decision-making—as his parents are not very educated and there is no one to discuss what he should do. His major high school years were all engulfed in the years surrounding the pandemic, and then shifting to a new town, being outside his home for the first time, carrying an accent, not knowing much English to converse, and sitting in a class with students from many fancy schools. Honestly, it was tremendous and huge to deal with and comprehend in between. I was jealous and very ashamed of myself without any precise reason.

Sometimes I feel like I have made many crazy choices; sometimes I feel, "have I made any right choice?" But over the past three years, I understood that a lot of the academic and identity problems were also political.

In our country, formal education is now revered, but it is still very un-uniform, defined by geography, city, and a lot by financial conditions. In my case, as someone from Bihar, even if you did your schooling from a private school, there will always be many gaps between my academic exposure and that of my age-mates from Tier-1 towns and schools. In rural to semi-rural localities, there are few to negligible career counselors, so a student needs to make many decisions based on a random uncle or the courses a cousin did. If you even think of anything unconventional, your path would be very difficult to even convey to your parents.

There is a systemic hierarchy in the education system, executed differently from Tier-1 cities and towns to a village.

Alongside, there are many other constraints that run parallel—we all can agree that a Bachelor of Arts in any humanities subject can never lead to any direct formal placement, still, many small-town students need to travel all the way to Delhi for a bachelor's degree.

This is because we generally can't find a single good college nearby with any good exposure. I know some of the Delhi University colleges are very prestigious and worth the hassle, but along with that, a lot of students take admission in average, evening to even the School of Open Learning because they can't find anything significant in their hometown or state. Travelling for a professional degree is different.

University of Delhi, despite being one of the most prestigious, doesn't provide hostel accommodation to about 70 to 90 percent of its students, which leads to another problem. I had a school friend who scored an almost perfect score in the CUET UG exam and even got a seat in one of the most prestigious colleges, but still couldn't travel because Delhi is very unsafe for girls. Besides, because her college did not have a hostel, her parents could not afford the PGs and private hostels, where monthly expenses range at least from 15–17k a month.

This further puts a financial constraint on many, given the economic realities of the majority of India. In India, we have a few good colleges centered in some cities, where financial constraints always limit many bright minds.

So, when a student like me moves, we are always at some disadvantage because of the constraints put upon us through a system designed in hierarchy, and it does justify why we are the ones who suffer more and have much more to hassle with. When we move to big cities, we need to carry ourselves through a series of exposures and need to put more and more effort simply to exist, to establish ourselves, and to simply have a story. As everyone has a different starting point.

This year, my younger brother gave his 12th board exams, and if I can say honestly, he is very disciplined—20 times more than me. For the last two years, along with his 12th boards and regular school, he was preparing for the JEE Mains exam. He gave his first attempt and scored a 91 percentile, and scored a 93 percentile in his second attempt. It was planned that after his 12th boards, he would take a drop year and give a whole dedicated year to preparation.

But this year, the 12th CBSE created a different taste, where he was scoring about 90% marks in every pre-board exam but ended up with only 73% in the boards, making him ineligible for various engineering colleges. A year which he wanted to dedicate to preparation for his dream college will now be a hassle of improvement examinations. Isn't the administrative design an experiment without many trials, having consequences on many students?

When I used to go to the basti to take some elementary classes with college societies, I used to teach a few kids in the 1st and 2nd grade. There used to be a small girl who came to almost all classes every day. She used to come punctually, had done all her work, and carried a very childlike smile, while I used to be there, annoyed with many of my emotions as mentioned above. One day while teaching, she mentioned that today she would be accompanying her father to sell panipuri because her mother was ill. A 7-year-old kid, with a smiling face, was accompanying her father to assist with his work. It felt like how much time we, even with so many privileges, spend remaining sad.

When I struggled with having a different starting point, it was political. When my younger brother missed the eligibility percentage, that too was a political experiment. When the girl from the basti cannot access a proper education, that is a political failure.

Being a student is never just about a textbook; it is about how choices are made, how various questions are answered, who is held accountable, and to whom we express our confused emotions. When will we finally have the same starting point? Everyday, someone is standing at a different threshold, and the choices imposed by our education system are always decisive and critical

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