'Democracy or Hypocrisy?'

Democracy or Hypocrisy? 

I have never been someone who easily gets emotional over movie scenes. Even when a story tugs at my heart, tears rarely follow. But this time I couldn’t hold back.

Recently, I went to watch Chhaava, a historical film on the life of Chhatrapati Sambhaji Maharaj. Growing up, history was never a likable subject to me. It always felt like a tedious exercise—memorizing dates, names, and the never-ending Mughal hierarchy, which I despised. Eventually, I lost all interest in the subject. But Chhaava proved me wrong. History was never dull; we were simply never taught it the right way. More importantly, we were never taught the right history.

Our textbooks spoke of Aurangzeb’s destruction—his ruthless demolitions of thousands of temples in the North. But they never told us about the Marathas, who protected and preserved the sacred temples in the South. We were taught the decline of Bharat, its invasions, its plundered wealth, and its losses. But where were the stories of its resistance? Of its warriors? Of its sons and daughters who fought to keep its spirit alive? Why was our history reduced to its suffering while its triumphs were overlooked?

Aurangzeb was always depicted as a powerful ruler, and I did know from history books that he was cruel. But the way our education system made us memorize the lineage of his patriarchal rule felt nothing short of disgusting.

Both Aurangzeb and Sambhaji Maharaj were warriors. Both sought to rule. So what made them different?

The answer is simple—Ideology.

According to the monarchy system, Shah Jahan’s eldest son, Dara Shikoh, was the rightful heir to the Mughal throne. But in his greed, Aurangzeb slaughtered his own brothers and imprisoned his father to seize power. He ruled not as a Bharatiya, but as an outsider, never encircling the land he was born in. He saw Bharat not as a home, but as a land to be looted and forcefully converted.

In contrast, Chhatrapati Sambhaji Maharaj, son of the great Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj, lived and fought for Swarajya—self-rule, a free Bharat. He wasn’t a ruler blinded by personal ambition; he was a patriot whose only purpose was the protection of his motherland. He upheld Bharatiya culture and identity, ensuring that his people remained free from tyranny.

And when the two finally stood against each other, it wasn’t just a battle of 'swords' —it was a battle of 'principles'.

Aurangzeb’s cruelty knew no limits. When he captured Sambhaji Maharaj, he subjected him to 40 days of unspeakable torture. His nails were ripped off, his skin peeled and covered in salt, his eyes gouged out—yet he stood fearless and firm.

Aurangzeb tried to tempt him:

"Convert to Islam, and you will have a life of comfort and power."

But Sambhaji Maharaj, despite his unbearable suffering, replied with courage:

"I offer you to come to our side. You will have a wonderful life, and you won’t even have to change your Dharma."

Even in his final moments, he remained unruffled. He bled, but he did not bow. His body was broken, but his spirit remained adamant.

And that scene—when it played on the screen—left me in tears.

Not just because of the pain he had, but because I wondered—if this mere re-enactment could move me so deeply, how much agony must he have actually felt?

But more than that, a thought struck me even harder—what have we done with the legacy of their sacrifice?

Where is Our Courage?

Sambhaji Maharaj gave his life to protect the land we now call home. He fought so that future generations could live with freedom, dignity, and pride. And look at us today.

Physically, we may not be warriors. But can we not be warriors in spirit? Can we not embody his strength in our thoughts, our actions, our ideals?

Where is our courage?

Where is our bravery?

Where is the fire that once burned in the hearts of our ancestors?

It wasn’t just a movie for me. It was a wake-up call. A reminder that we are the heirs of those who never surrendered. And perhaps, it’s time we started living like it.

Today, patriotism seems to have become a ritual—alive only on 26th January and 15th August. The same youth who proudly chant "Mera Bharat Mahaan" on these days will forget its meaning the very next. They are ready to cut their veins in the name of love, but when it comes to bleeding for the nation, they step back.

Loving something is easy. But staying true to that love, fighting for it, and protecting it—that takes real courage. Saying "I love my India" is effortless, but standing for its well-being? That’s where the test begins.

Chhatrapati Sambhaji Maharaj knew exactly how cruel Aurangzeb was. Yet, he did not let hatred blind him. Instead of mindless revenge, he believed in justice. He gave Aurangzeb a choice—to surrender. And when the war came, he fought for Dharma and Swarajya till his last breath.

The truth is harsh. The sacrifices of our ancestors are fading from memory, and the battles they fought are now reduced to forgotten pages in history books. If we do not wake up, if we do not reclaim our responsibility towards this land, then soon, we will have nothing left to call our own.

Being a patriot isn’t about waving the flag twice a year. It’s about protecting the ideals that flag represents.

And right now, those ideals are under attack—not from the outside, but from within

Look at the youths today, they will wage war over RCB vs. CSK in IPL matches but will remain silent on issues that truly impact their future. They will fight over Bigg Boss contestants, debating who deserves to win a scripted show, but when it comes to raising their voices for their rights, they suddenly lose the courage to speak.

Where is that fire? Where is that spirit of resistance that once defined us?

Is This Really a Democracy?

I grew up reading in books that democracy is 'of the people' , 'for the people' , and 'by the people' . But is that really the truth? If democracy is truly for the people, then why is it that when someone raises critical political issues, they are either:

• Silenced with threats,
• Falsely accused and dragged into legal cases, or worse,
• Murdered to erase the truth.

Does democracy exist for the people, or is it just a convenient illusion to maintain control?

And if that wasn’t enough, it now seems like democracy also doesn’t want the public to laugh.

Why is it that comedians, who make people laugh, are suddenly treated as national threats while those who loot the country walk free? Is a joke more dangerous than corruption, crime, and injustice?

Comedy is a Crime, But Crime is a Joke?

By now, most of us are familiar with the controversy surrounding Samay Raina and India’s Got Latent. A Kashmiri boy who once bullied in school, who struggled his way up, and who carved a niche for himself in stand-up comedy—now faces an FIR over his show. His crime? Using slang. That’s it.

But wait—who doesn’t? The same society that cheers when Virat Kohli hurls expletives on the cricket field suddenly finds offense in a comedian’s language. If we are truly worried about youth learning the wrong things, perhaps we should first rectify that—because, by that logic, aggressive sportsmanship now comes with a prerequisite: a few choice slangs.

The real question is—why don’t people take jokes as jokes? Why are comedians scrutinized while real social issues are trivialized? Samay Raina has been in comedy for years, but his name suddenly made headlines. Why? Because of dark humor? But wasn’t it the audience that adopted and amplified it? His channel still features chess content, travel vlogs, and casual streams. Does anyone discuss that? No. If his comedy is supposedly corrupting young minds (as claimed by the media), then why hasn’t his chess content inspired millions to pick up the game?

Samay Raina has single-handedly achieved what most top OTT platforms haven’t managed in years. And may be that, is the real issue. While mainstream OTT platforms churn out obscene, mindless content without repercussions, he is being made a scapegoat. His show topped streaming charts without corporate backing, without extravagant marketing. Maybe that’s what rattled the industry—the fact that a self-made creator, without studio funding or censorship, could dominate viewership.

And now, suddenly, it’s a national security issue? Swift legal action, immediate outrage—but where was this efficiency during the Nirbhaya case? Where was this urgency when a privileged brat, responsible for the Pune Porsche tragedy, walked free with a mere 300-word essay on road safety? Murder is brushed aside, but a stand-up act shakes the conscience of an entire nation?

If selective outrage had a face, this would be it.

Apoorva, the rebel kid, defended herself against an insult, now finds herself accused. Why? Because she has a verified Instagram account? Because she responded with the same energy she was met with? Yet, rapists roam free.

This is where we stand today—a land once defined by valor and justice, where kings delivered instant rulings in their courts, now treats pressing national issues as comedy and comedy as a national crisis. Pending cases rot in the judiciary for decades, but a comedian’s words warrant immediate action? If this isn't a targeted agenda against independent creators, what is?

Let’s see if the judiciary will course-correct—or continue proving that jokes are the real crime, while actual criminals remain punchlines.