Down Diya Brigade

 

Source: https://cartoonrob.com/tag/booing/ 

 In my class section in high school, there was a group of boys who weren’t particularly good at anything—neither academics, sports, music, looks, nor even cracking a decent joke. But they were united by one common act:

Booing anyone and everyone in the class who, in their view, dared to step out of line. 

With my outspokenness, sometimes unusual, and often outlandish questions and ideas, I quickly became a regular target. Was there any malice or serious bullying involved? Not really, it was just their way of maintaining a social hierarchy built on colourless mediocrity. I christened them the "Down Diya Brigade"— Down Diya in Assamese-English slang meant to pull someone down.

Years passed. Most of them faded into lower to middle-rung bureaucracy. One drank himself to death in his early forties. Never the type to keep in touch with “fellow inmates”—I mean, classmates, I stayed connected with only a few.
Then one day, someone posted my picture in a class Facebook group. One of the Brigade’s top cheerleaders couldn’t resist, came out of the woodwork and commented something to the effect of me being “fat as a pig, ready for slaughter.”

The retribution was swift. Not as scorched-earth as I initially wanted to (I left out the brutal part about his own appearance and those of his family members - some things are just not said, no matter what) but the message got through. Of course, to the silent spectators in the group, I was as always “angry and overreacting!” 

Fast-forward to the present. A friend from my old stadium days calls me, saying there's a party interested in bidding for a 15-20 Cr government tender. They have the money, and political proximity to the relevant minister—but lack technical qualifications or a track record. Could I connect them with a legitimate partner? Naturally, he gets a cut.

As so happens, I do have a client who fits the bill, but who conveyed that they would only move ahead if I led the project. So, we hold a first meeting with his party, followed by a second one with my client. In both, my “friend” kept highlighting our long-standing friendship, my deep knowledge of boats and rivers. But each time, he ended his pitch by laughing and calling me a complete crackpot.

Was he trying to be funny? Playing the same old social dominance game? Or just too thick to realize that calling the key person in a potential 20 Cr project, a nutcase, is not very confidence inspiring for all involved. But then again, it’s typical behaviour in this part of the world, especially here in Assam. 

They want your work, your knowledge, your contacts: All preferably for free, or in exchange for vague promises.

Nonetheless, they will still begin the conversation by shaming your body and end it by questioning your sanity.

I kept my morose evaluation of his behaviour to myself, with the thought: "What else to expect from Moose?" Yes, the same, from Archie comics, as that's what some of us called him behind his back, though he preferred being compared to Arnold - muscleman, terminator and ex-governor.

 

The  Maa Kali Dal, my codename for Moose's party, came with several polite demands - from details of my client's past work orders, to my writing concept notes, providing technical specs for a new tender, and making river inspections. Basically everything they could think of, except discussing my terms of engagement and professional fees. 

Now, I don't know whether it was due to my being introduced as a crackpot, or not being available for free service, they too soon disappeared, not to be heard of again.

Saying "C'est la Vie" doesn't apply in these situations.
It's either something totally outlandish, idiotic or just characteristically Oxomiya!!

Here, anyone who is either talented, hardworking, artistic, honest, purpose-driven, original, visionary or just plain fearless is denigrated with one word - "Pagol".

The meaning, you guessed it..,

Dark Night of the Soul for Startup Founders

 

 "La noche oscura del alma" is a poem by the Spanish mystic St. John of the Cross, which translates into English as "Dark Night of the Soul."
A period of immense crisis of faith, one of unanswerable questions posed to the self and the world, and mental turmoil. It's characterized by a deep sense of meaninglessness, apathy, isolation, and despair. A transformative experience that may lead to spiritual awakening, a deeper understanding of oneself and the world, a renewed sense of purpose — or a fall into the abyss of depression, apathy or worse.
It’s not taught in management schools, by accelerators or mentors. If the Valley of Death is an obstacle to gaining market traction, the Dark Night of the Soul is the deeper, more personal crisis — one faced by founders who are inventors, builders, and problem-solvers. Those who pour their life and soul into their solutions. I am yet to meet a single deep-tech or appropriate-tech innovator who was motivated by money alone. 

That’s another breed of founder altogether.
 

And so, you reach TRL-4 or TRL-5. Your product is good, tested, affordable, and most importantly, needed by society and by institutions.
But the answer is still: “Sorry, not interested.”
Private buyers want market validation or obscene discounts.
The government bureaucracy is hostile.
Incubators see you only as a poster child to justify their own raison d'être.
Investors demand guaranteed exponential returns.
The grant amounts are laughable; the gatekeeping around them is not. Academia is split between toxic know-it-alls, those who prefer easier subjects and rehashing meaningless papers, and yes — a few who would happily pinch your work and declare it their own.

After 5 years of my journey, I’ve learned that Assam is not a flood-prone state — it is a Desert. As, despite having innumerable rivers and 9 departments connected to water, not a single government official visited our facility, located just outside the city.
Even the armed forces — when told about our bamboo composite boats and other proprietary defence tech we are working on— asked us, not once but twice: “Can you make folding bamboo lavatories?”

At a recent state government meeting on the future of Bamboo — I asked: Why bother inviting us? Beyond organizing exhibitions and seminars, no one ever lifted a finger to help bring our Bamboo products to market.
All this talk about promoting bamboo-based industries — what does it amount to? Charcoal, Vinegar, Handicrafts & Doop sticks?
Charcoal is the first indicator that man evolved from ape — dating back over 55,000 years. Vinegar? At least 12,000 years old.
So, can we think beyond these two, scaffolding and incense sticks?
Bamboo has immense potential for modern value-added products. Our Bamboo composite boats are just one example. What about bamboo extracts in bioplastics? Bamboo nanofibres? No answers.

They thanked me for my input, probably making a note not to invite me again.

Man vs Supermen!!

  

Ever wondered why are some Western European nations so predictably loud in their support of Israel? It's not what you think. It's not about some collective guilt — that ship sailed generations ago, if ever. The truth is simpler and uglier: they just don’t want the Jews back. All it costs them is a few hours of prime-time posturing, sobbing crocodile tears under perfect lighting and lacquered hairdos, and maybe a few billion in aid and arms packages. Cheap price, really.

With the US, it's messier. Since the 70s, the pro-Zionist lobby, later rebranded as the Neocons, completely hijacked their foreign policy. But let’s be honest — American policymakers weren’t innocent babes in the woods, either. They needed a local thug to intimidate the neighbourhood to secure their oil interests. Enter Israel: arrogant, eager, armed to the teeth, and drunk on its own supremacist delusions by booting out unarmed Arabs and Palestinians from their ancestral land. They controlled the global narrative in the media — people who could do no wrong, ever the smug and morally superior victims who thought they were in control, the dominatrix in the room. Whereas in reality, they may have been just the latest client state in a long line of expendables (think Ukraine). They forgot the revelation of perhaps the most cunning Jewish-American diplomat of all: Henry Kissinger, who warned, “It may be dangerous to be America’s enemy, but to be America’s friend is fatal.”

Now look at the present farce. The US President is all puff and no punch, their pro-Israel lobby is swooning, foaming at the mouth. And Bibi, looking like the proverbial "Koshei" of Slavic fairy tales — shrunk to half his size, tic in the mouth and sunken eyes, but not yet munching ties on live TV. For once, it may be occurring to them that they are not invincible, don't call the shots and may have even been "Saddammed" — whom the Americans first armed as a proxy against Iran, looked the other way when he gassed the Kurds with their weapons (think Gaza) then gave a nod and a wink to go ahead and do your thing, before he marched into Kuwait. The rest is history.
The US, which sent Tomahawks at the drop of a hat into Sudan, Iraq, and Afghanistan earlier, and Yemen recently, just seems to be content with Trump's Twitter threats, while Elon apparently teleported himself to Mars.

Sounds too farfetched? The Elon part yes, the rest..let see how the events unfold...

 Aftermath: Trump did blow up a few million dollars flying their Bombers to puncture a few holes with their bunker Busters, more to incur expenditures for their Arms lobby, with no tangible results. The conflict is currently frozen. The Gaza genocide continues. Iran will get their Atom bomb by next year. 

Russia as usual sat on the fence, muttering something about 2 million Russian speakers living in Israel.