When Snacks Unite and People Divide

 

Samosa came from Persia, jalebi from Arabia, and barfi from India. They share space on our plates, our festivals, and our cravings. They are not concerned with the politics of origin, the purity of culture, or the identity of their makers. Yet, in the same land where these delicacies coexist without quarrel, people continue to divide themselves in the name of religion, race, and faith. It is an irony as rich as the syrup of a jalebi and as bitter as burnt sugar.

History has always been a patient teacher, but we remain stubborn students. Long before the borders of modern nations, trade routes carried spices, sweets, and stories across civilisations. The samosa travelled with Persian merchants to Central Asia and then to the Indian subcontinent. The jalebi, known as zalabiya in Arabic, came with traders and soldiers who made India their home. Barfi, though born in India, carries a Persian name that means snow. Together, they reveal a simple truth — our culture has always been a fusion, not a fortress.

Yet today, we stand in a time when fusion is suspect, and purity is preached. Where once caravans brought recipes, now ideologues bring resentment. We debate who belongs, who does not, and who came first — forgetting that every civilisation worth its salt has been shaped by those who came from elsewhere. The kitchen, that humble laboratory of coexistence, tells a story far wiser than any sermon from a political pulpit.

Look at a plate of snacks in any Indian home during a festival. You will find samosas beside jalebis, barfi beside seviyan, and gulab jamuns alongside sheer khurma. The diversity on the plate mocks the division on the street. Food, like faith, is meant to nourish, not to divide. It does not ask whether your hands folded in prayer before touching it, or which god you invoked before the first bite. It asks only if you are hungry — and hunger, mercifully, has no religion.

Our ancestors understood this better than we do. The same civilisation that wrote the Upanishads also welcomed the Quran and preserved the Gospels. Ancient India was not afraid of ideas from abroad. It absorbed them, debated them, refined them, and made them its own. The samosa and jalebi are small edible monuments to that same spirit of assimilation. They prove that borrowing is not betrayal; it is civilisation itself.

But modern politics thrives not on unity, but on fear. It weaponises difference and sells division. It tells you that your neighbour is your enemy because his name sounds different, or his prayer is said in another language. It tells you that your past was pure until someone came and polluted it. Such narratives may fetch votes, but they rob us of dignity. They make us suspicious of the very richness that defines us.

It is time to step back and take lessons from the plate before us. The samosa does not reject the jalebi because it was born elsewhere. The barfi does not protest because its name came from another tongue. Together they make the meal complete. Should people be any different?

Every culture, like every kitchen, is a conversation between old and new. To deny that is to deny evolution itself. When we accept that our food, our language, our art, and our festivals are the products of mingling minds, we become less fearful and more human. The more we mix, the more flavour we create — in taste, in thought, in life.

Perhaps it is time we learn from our snacks what our politics refuses to teach. Civilisation is not about drawing lines on maps or guarding temples of memory. It is about celebrating the beauty of exchange — of ideas, of ingredients, of hearts.

Next time you bite into a samosa or swirl a jalebi in syrup, remember the journey it made to reach your plate. Remember that it crossed borders, religions, and centuries to bring joy to you. And then ask yourself — if food can unite us so effortlessly, what stops us from doing the same?

Because in the end, hatred has never fed a nation. But a shared meal always has.

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— Siddhartha Shankar Mishra
Advocate, Supreme Court of India
✉️ ssmishra33@gmail.com
He writes on law, politics, and society with a touch of satire and conscience.

 

The Vadnagar Express: Non-Stop to Political Mythology

 

Since 1881, Vadnagar station has seen many passengers, but none marketed as vigorously as its most famous chaiwala. From tea stalls to missing certificates and Himalayan wanderings, Modi’s journey reads less like history and more like a political mythology running non-stop.

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Of Tea, Tracks, and Certificates: The Modi Origin Story

History, like tea, tastes different depending on who is brewing it. In India’s political kitchen, the most over-boiled concoction is the story of a boy who sold tea at a railway station and then ascended to the throne of Delhi. Stirring this tale with facts, dates, and a pinch of satire, one finds a brew that is less divine elixir and more political marketing.

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The Setting of the Stage: Vadnagar 1881

Let us begin not with Modi’s birth in 1950, but with the birth of his stage: the Vadnagar railway station. Built in 1881 during the British Raj as part of the Mehsana–Vadnagar narrow-gauge line, the station stood there decades before Modi’s first cry echoed through Vadnagar.

By the 1960s, it was still a sleepy station. Few trains, fewer passengers, but — according to political folklore — the perfect place for a child entrepreneur to launch his tea empire. If one believes the campaign posters, this wasn’t a boy pouring hot water into an aluminum kettle; it was the Indian Dream incarnate, brewing itself on a wooden bench.

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1950: The Birth of the Brand

Narendra Damodardas Modi was born on 17 September 1950, to Damodardas and Hiraba Modi. The family belonged to the Ghanchi community — traditional oil pressers, later petty traders.

In most biographies, this is where the violin music starts: a poor child helping his father at a railway tea stall. In most political speeches, this is where the violin becomes a marching band: “A son of the soil, a chaiwala!”

But satire, like truth, demands an awkward question: if the station existed since 1881, why was it rediscovered only in 2014 election rallies?

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1960s: Of School Bells and Steam Whistles

Modi’s schooling in Vadnagar during the 1960s has been described as modest. Teachers called him average in academics but keen in debates and drama. He loved playing the role of a saint on stage — a foreshadowing of how politics itself would later become his theatre.

Meanwhile, the railway station, that eternal supporting actor, became the centrepiece of the story. As if the planks of its benches held the prophecy of future prime ministership. One wonders if the British engineers of 1881 knew that their humble platform would one day be marketed more vigorously than the Taj Mahal.

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Certificates: The Scriptwriters’ Headache

Education is usually a ladder. In Modi’s case, it is a mystery novel.

• School Leaving: Yes, he studied in Vadnagar. That much is certain.
• Higher Studies: Here comes the suspense. Modi claims a BA from Delhi University (1978) and an MA from Gujarat University (1983).
• The Twist: In 2016, when RTI activists demanded proof, universities produced documents, but the plot thickened with spelling errors, mismatched details, and missing records.

The opposition cried forgery; supporters cried foul. Meanwhile, the Prime Minister maintained saintly silence, perhaps thinking: why bother with degrees when you can confer doctorates on yourself through electoral victories?

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Early 1970s: The Wandering Monk

After finishing school, Modi reportedly left home, seeking spiritual enlightenment. He is said to have wandered the Himalayas, stayed at Ramakrishna Mission ashrams, and lived a life of meditation.

The problem is — no diary, no witness, no railway ticket survives from this wandering. It is as if history itself chose to respect his privacy. In storytelling terms, this is the convenient “interval” — the hero disappears, only to return transformed.

One can’t help but suspect that the monk’s robes were less about renunciation and more about rehearsal: practicing solitude before embracing power.

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Mid-1970s: RSS, Emergency, and Political Birth

By 1974, Modi returned to Vadnagar, this time not with a kettle but with pamphlets. He joined the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS) and plunged into the Navnirman Movement, a student agitation against corruption in Gujarat.

During the Emergency (1975–77), he worked underground, distributing anti-government literature. For the RSS, he was not yet the star, but a backstage hand, arranging lights and props for the ideological theatre.

From tea-seller to underground activist, the biography was already acquiring cinematic pace. All it needed was a national stage and a good director.

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Satire Brewing

Now let’s pause and sip the contradictions.

1. The Station: Built in 1881, yet sold to us in 2014 as if Modi had personally laid the tracks.
2. The Tea: A humble family occupation turned into an epic saga, proof that poverty is not to be eradicated but glamorized.
3. The Certificates: Produced late, riddled with errors, but defended like holy scriptures.
4. The Wandering: A decade of supposed spiritual search that no one can confirm, but everyone must believe.

If a novelist wrote such a character, critics would accuse him of exaggeration. In India, we elect him.

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The Larger Irony

The tea-seller story was once a tale of humble origins. Today, it has mutated into a corporate brand. Government ads, election posters, and foreign tours all boil the same kettle: he rose from nothing, therefore everything he does is right.

But should poverty be used as a perpetual campaign poster? Should selling tea at a station in the 1960s guarantee immunity from questions in 2025? By that logic, every rickshaw-puller is a prime minister-in-waiting.

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Timeline Recap (for those who prefer railway schedules):

• 1881: Vadnagar railway station built.
• 1950: Modi born in Vadnagar.
• 1960s: Schooling; assisted at family’s tea stall.
• Early 1970s: Leaves home, wanders Himalayas, joins Ramakrishna Mission ashrams.
• 1974: Returns, joins RSS during Navnirman agitation.
• 1975–77: Works underground during Emergency.
• 1978: Alleged BA from Delhi University.
• 1983: Alleged MA from Gujarat University.

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In Sum

In sum, the Modi narrative is a clever blend of half-truths, omissions, and exaggerations. Yes, there was a tea stall. Yes, there was a wandering phase. Yes, there are certificates. But around these fragments, an empire of political mythology has been built — one that transforms a man’s modest life into a legend, while leaving inconvenient facts by the roadside.

About the Author

The author, Siddhartha Mishra, is an Advocate at the Supreme Court of India. He writes frequently on law, politics, and society, blending legal precision with sharp satire. He can be reached at ssmishra33@gmail.com  

References

Andersen, W. K., & Damle, S. D. (2018). RSS: A view to the inside. Penguin Random House India.

Caravan Magazine. (2014, July). Myth and the making of Modi. The Caravan. Retrieved from https://caravanmagazine.in

Dasgupta, S. (2014, April). The political phenomenon called Narendra Modi. India Today. Retrieved from https://www.indiatoday.in

Delhi University & Gujarat University. (2016, May). RTI responses on educational qualifications of Narendra Modi. Reported in The Hindu, The Indian Express, & NDTV.

Election Commission of India. (2014 & 2019). Affidavit filings by candidate Narendra Modi. Retrieved from https://affidavit.eci.gov.in

Indian Railways Archives. (1881). Records of the Mehsana–Vadnagar narrow-gauge line under BB&CI Railway. Western Railway Heritage Section, Mumbai.

Marino, A. (2014). Narendra Modi: A political life. HarperCollins Publishers.

Mukhopadhyay, N. (2013). Narendra Modi: The man, the times. Tranquebar Press.

Ramakrishna Mission Archives. (2014, June). Statement on Narendra Modi’s alleged stay at Belur Math. Reported in The Telegraph and Outlook India.

State Archives of Gujarat. (1974–1975). Records of the Gujarat Navnirman Movement and ABVP participation. Government of Gujarat.

One Hundred Years of Silence: The RSS and India’s Freedom Struggle

 

When a century-old institution celebrates its birth anniversary, one usually expects a garland of glorious history: battles fought, sacrifices made, prisons endured, martyrs remembered. But when it comes to the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS), born in 1925 and now entering its hundredth year, the historical record looks more like a century of silence punctuated by drill whistles than a saga of sacrifice.

The RSS’s founding father, Keshav Baliram Hedgewar, had indeed dabbled in Congress-led protests during the Non-Cooperation Movement of 1921. But by 1925, he had retired from politics to start a new venture: not a political revolution but a daily drill club, better known as the shakha. Hedgewar’s mission was not to overthrow the British Raj, but to straighten Hindu backs with lathis and marching songs. The Raj, ever vigilant against sedition, looked upon the RSS with indulgent eyes—it was hard to arrest a group of young men twirling sticks in the park while the rest of the country was busy defying colonial law.

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The Civil Disobedience Movement (1930s): Silence of the Swayamsevaks

As Gandhi and Nehru led salt marches and filled jails, the RSS stayed safely in the background, reciting patriotic verses in well-ironed khaki shorts. The organization did not call upon its volunteers to join the protests. In fact, Hedgewar’s occasional participation was framed as his “personal capacity,” not an RSS mission. It was as if the Sangh’s philosophy was: Let others break laws and go to prison; we shall break sweat in the playground.

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Quit India, Quiet RSS (1942): A Case Study in Neutrality

The year 1942 saw India’s greatest mass uprising against the British—the Quit India Movement. Entire villages rose in rebellion, British jails overflowed, and leaders from Gandhi to Aruna Asaf Ali faced imprisonment. And the RSS? It chose the noblest of all political positions: neutrality.

M.S. Golwalkar, who had by then taken over as the head, made it clear that the RSS would not participate. British intelligence reports confirm that the organization avoided political entanglements and even reassured colonial officials that its cadre would not cause trouble. While Congressmen were hunted, flogged, and jailed, swayamsevaks continued their shakhas undisturbed.

One might say that while the nation shouted “Do or Die,” the RSS preferred “Drill and March.”

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Subhas Bose and the INA: Absent Friends

When Subhas Chandra Bose raised the Indian National Army and sought help from Germany and Japan, young Indians left everything to join the dream of an armed liberation. The RSS, however, did not send contingents, funds, or even a symbolic salute. For an organization that boasts of martial spirit, its absence from the INA saga is perhaps the loudest silence in military history.

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Communal Shield, Not Freedom Sword

To its credit, the RSS did perform social service—particularly in protecting Hindus during communal riots. But this was never directed against the British Empire; it was always a project of internal consolidation. The British, experts in the art of divide and rule, could hardly have asked for a more cooperative arrangement. While Nehru languished in jail, the Raj found in the RSS an organization that was politically quietist and socially useful.

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The Martyrdom Question

Every great nationalist organization boasts of martyrs:

• Congress has Bhagat Singh, Rajguru, Sukhdev, and a long list of jailbirds and exiles.
• The INA has soldiers who fell in battle, chanting “Jai Hind.”
• The communists, despite ideological disputes, bled in labour strikes and peasant revolts.

And the RSS? It has martyrs of discipline—those who never missed a pratah shakha. The organization cannot point to a single leader executed by the British, a single mass trial it suffered, or a single gallows it climbed. Its roll of honour is distinguished by absence.

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After Independence: The Great Rebranding

When freedom finally came in 1947, the RSS quickly tried to drape itself in nationalist colours. Its cadres were visible during Partition riots, often in the role of “community defenders”—though critics allege that “defence” often slid into aggression. The assassination of Mahatma Gandhi in 1948 by Nathuram Godse, a man who had once been an RSS worker, led to the banning of the organization for the first time. Sardar Patel himself wrote scathing letters accusing the RSS of creating an atmosphere of hate.

Thus, the RSS’s first real encounter with the independent Indian state was not as a freedom fighter but as a suspect in Gandhi’s murder.

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The Historical Irony

The irony of the RSS’s centenary celebrations lies in its attempt to rewrite its own past. Its leaders now claim that swayamsevaks “indirectly” contributed by building Hindu character, as if character-building itself toppled the British Empire. Others argue that individual members joined the struggle in their personal capacity. By that logic, one could also say that the Indian freedom struggle was aided by the British railway system, because it transported Congress volunteers to protest sites.

History, however, demands specifics: dates, events, martyrs, sacrifices. And on these metrics, the RSS record book remains largely blank between 1925 and 1947.

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The Centenary Satire

As the RSS celebrates one hundred years in 2025, one can imagine the commemorative plaque:

“Here stood an organization that did not oppose the British, did not join Quit India, did not fight with the INA, and did not fill British jails. But it drilled diligently, marched faithfully, and perfected the art of silence during revolution. Long live the shakha!”

It is the only organization that can boast of reaching its centenary without having once been beaten by a British policeman’s lathi.

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Conclusion: A Legacy of Non-Participation

The RSS today is a political powerhouse through its offspring, the Bharatiya Janata Party. It claims the mantle of nationalism, patriotism, and cultural pride. Yet, the historical record of its first 22 years (1925–1947) reveals a striking truth: the RSS played no direct role in India’s freedom struggle. Its centenary therefore raises a satirical question: Can an organization that stood by during the fight for freedom now claim to be the custodian of nationalism?

The answer lies not in slogans but in archives. And the archives whisper, with dry irony: “When India fought, the RSS watched.”

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 Author’s Introduction:
Siddhartha Shankar Mishra is an Advocate at the Supreme Court of India and a political commentator. He writes with a satirical edge on law, history, and contemporary politics, exposing hypocrisies with a lawyer’s precision and a critic’s pen. He can be reached at ssmishra33@gmail.com.

 

Behind the Curtain: Modi as the De Facto RSS SANGRACHALAK

 

The Hidden Helm: Modi Steering the Sangh

 

The Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh has always projected itself as the ideological fountainhead of the Bharatiya Janata Party and the larger Sangh Parivar. At the centre of this structure is the Sarsanghchalak, portrayed as the supreme guide whose word is final. From Dr Keshav Baliram Hedgewar to M S Golwalkar and later Balasaheb Deoras, the Sarsanghchalak was seen as the soul of the movement. Even in recent decades, when the BJP emerged as a national force, Nagpur remained the ideological compass. Yet in today’s India, that compass has been quietly placed in the Prime Minister’s Office. Narendra Modi, once the humble pracharak who took instructions from Nagpur, has become the real Sarsanghchalak. The guru has been reduced to an accessory, while the disciple has claimed the throne.

From mentor to servant

In the past, the RSS called the shots. The Jan Sangh and later the BJP were seen as political instruments of Nagpur. Atal Bihari Vajpayee, despite his moderate image, never ignored the Sangh leadership. L K Advani built his career on the Ram Janmabhoomi movement which was not simply a political strategy but an RSS designed mass mobilisation. The demolition of the Babri Masjid in 1992, for which Advani later expressed regret, was nonetheless carried out by cadres who took their ideological fuel from the Sangh.

Even Vajpayee, whose government came to power in 1998, had to walk a careful line. He sought to pursue a more inclusive political image but Nagpur always had a say in policy debates. The parent organisation could still discipline its political child. This balance of power kept the RSS as the ideological master and BJP as the obedient offspring.

That equilibrium has collapsed in the Modi era.

Modi’s rise and the shift in control

Narendra Modi’s political journey is deeply rooted in the RSS. He joined as a pracharak in the early 1970s and was deputed to the BJP in the 1980s. His rise in Gujarat was backed by the Sangh network. However, once he became Chief Minister after the 2001 earthquake, Modi demonstrated that he was not going to be just another organisational functionary. The 2002 Gujarat riots cemented his image as a strong leader who could survive criticism from both outside and within. Reports suggest that the then Prime Minister Vajpayee wanted him removed, but the RSS defended him. Ironically, that defence helped Modi build a personal power base that eventually outgrew the organisation.

By the time Modi became Prime Minister in 2014, the RSS had invested heavily in his victory. Lakhs of volunteers campaigned tirelessly to bring the BJP to power. Yet once Modi was in office, the direction of influence reversed. Instead of Nagpur guiding Delhi, Delhi began dictating terms to Nagpur.

Examples of RSS sidelining

Several examples underline this transformation. When demonetisation was announced in 2016, the decision was taken in absolute secrecy. Even senior ministers were caught unaware. The RSS, which traditionally prides itself on being part of major ideological and organisational debates, was left as clueless as the common man standing in ATM queues. Still, instead of questioning, the Sangh issued statements of support.

The abrogation of Article 370 in 2019, though long cherished by the Sangh, was executed entirely as a government plan. The RSS played no role in strategy or timing. It was Modi and Amit Shah who scripted and staged the move. The Citizenship Amendment Act too bore the Modi stamp, with the Sangh again reduced to cheerleading rather than guiding.

Even in electoral strategies, it is Modi’s image that dominates. The RSS cadres may do the ground work, but the central figure is the Prime Minister himself. The Sangh has become a campaigning tool rather than the ideological master.

The silencing of veterans

Perhaps the most striking evidence of Modi’s supremacy over the RSS lies in the treatment of senior leaders. L K Advani, once the face of Hindutva politics and the Sangh’s trusted man, was unceremoniously retired from active politics. Murli Manohar Joshi, a lifelong swayamsevak and scholar, was sidelined. Even Nitin Gadkari, widely respected within the RSS and seen as its natural choice for higher leadership, has been made to walk carefully so as not to appear as a rival to Modi.

In earlier times, the RSS would not have allowed such arbitrary sidelining of its veterans. But today, Nagpur accepts what Delhi dictates.

The symbolic power shift

The RSS still holds its annual Vijayadashami gatherings where the Sarsanghchalak delivers a speech. But those speeches are carefully worded to avoid even mild criticism of the government. They sound less like guiding statements and more like endorsements of policy. The once assertive parent has become a polite follower.

In satire, one might say the RSS is no longer the fountainhead of ideology but the fountain pen, signing wherever Modi points. It is no longer the guiding compass but a ceremonial compass rose drawn on a map that Modi has already charted. The guru claps from the audience while the disciple performs on stage.

Consequences of this reversal

This power shift is not a mere matter of internal hierarchy. It carries serious consequences for Indian democracy. The RSS always claimed that it was above day to day politics, that it provided cultural and moral guidance while the BJP handled governance. If that claim was ever true, it is no longer so. Today, the RSS has outsourced its moral compass to one man’s ego.

The organisation remains silent on issues like growing economic inequality, crony capitalism, farmer distress, and unemployment. It raises selective concerns on matters of social harmony but never questions the government in power. Its autonomy has shrunk into irrelevance. Instead of being the conscience keeper of the BJP, it has become a mere echo chamber.

The irony is bitter. The RSS built the BJP brick by brick, using decades of grassroots work. It mobilised generations of volunteers who lived austere lives for the sake of ideology. Yet today, all that discipline and sacrifice serve one individual’s brand. Narendra Modi is not just the Prime Minister; he has become the de facto Sarsanghchalak. The real shakha is no longer in dusty grounds across India but in the Prime Minister’s rallies, his cabinet meetings, and his digital propaganda machinery.

A cautionary tale

The story of the RSS under Modi is a cautionary tale for any organisation that believes it can control its political offspring. Once a creature of Nagpur, the BJP has now domesticated the very hand that fed it. The puppeteer has become the puppet. The cultural parent has been reduced to a ceremonial relative.

History will judge whether this was an inevitable centralisation of power or a betrayal of the Sangh’s original structure. What is clear is that the RSS today plays second fiddle, and its supposed supremacy is a matter of myth rather than fact.

In blunt terms, the real Sarsanghchalak does not sit in Nagpur. He sits in New Delhi, ruling not only as Prime Minister but as the ideological commander of the Sangh itself.

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Author

Advocate Siddhartha Shankar Mishra is a practicing lawyer at the Supreme Court of India and writes on law, politics, and society.