Amitabo_Buddha

Hindutva and Sexual Violence: What Are We Teaching Our Girls? At home, we are teaching our children what a good touch is and what a bad touch is. With girls especially, in a country where sexual violence is not an aberration but a pattern, this is not a one-time conversation. It is a 24x7 project. You are not just teaching a rule. You are building a moral vocabulary, a language they will use to understand their own bodies, their own boundaries, and the world around them. And then you see a video from Bengal. Young Hindu girls, possibly 13 or 14 years old, dancing to a Hindutva pop song by Sandeep Acharya, a Brahmin, the highest rung in the Hindu caste hierarchy, a man whose cultural authority in this space is therefore not incidental. The lyrics say "unki ma ka bhos*a". The girls thrust their pelvises forward, rhythmically, the way men do when they mime sexual penetration. The target of that thrust, the lyrics make clear, is the "deshdrohi", the traitor to the nation. So let us be precise about what is happening here. A sexual obscenity directed at a woman's body has been soldered onto a political target. The physical mime of rape has been repackaged as patriotic assertion. And girls who are still learning what their bodies mean are performing it, not in secret, not in shame, but with pride. With belonging. With the full weight of religious-political identity behind every thrust. This is not vulgarity. Vulgarity is accidental. This is architecture. Because here is what that video is actually doing to those girls, beneath the surface of the dance: it is teaching them that the mime of sexual violence, when aimed at the right enemy, is not violence at all. It is a virtue. It is an identity. It is what good Hindu girls do. And this is where the danger becomes generational. We know from decades of research on sexual violence that one of the primary conditions enabling it is the inability to name it. Children who cannot identify what is being done to them, who have no vocabulary for violation, are the most vulnerable. We spend enormous effort giving girls that vocabulary. We teach them: this is your body, this is your boundary, this is what assault looks like. But what happens when a cultural movement systematically blurs that vocabulary? When a 13 or 14 year old girl performs a pelvic thrust to the lyric "unki ma ka bhos*a" and feels pride rather than alarm, something has been quietly dismantled inside her moral architecture. The gesture that should register as sexual aggression has been reclassified. It is now devotion. It is now nationalism. It is now us versus them. The consequences of this reclassification are not abstract. They are consequential. First: she becomes less able to recognise sexual violence when it is directed at her, because she has already learnt that the same gesture, in the right political context, is not violence. It is empowerment. Can you believe it? A pelvic thrust with lyrics that say "unki ma ka bhos*a", symbolising rape and sexual violence, is being repackaged as empowerment. Second: she becomes capable of participating in sexual violence against other women, not despite being a woman, but partly because of the political identity that has replaced her moral one. This is nationalism now. We have already seen this. Women who cheer mob violence. Women who justify rape of the enemy. Women who look at another woman being assaulted and see not a woman, but a "deshdrohi". Third: the settled moral debate that sexual violence is wrong, which feminists, lawyers, doctors, and activists spent generations building in this country, begins to erode. Not through open argument, but through slow cultural reclassification. Rape is no longer always rape. It depends on who is doing it, and to whom, and in the name of what. Rape is being repackaged as civilizational truth. It is nationalism. It is deshbhakti. CONT++

Professor Marandi is a US citizen born in Richmond, Virginia. He is eligible to be elected US President. He is much smarter than either Trump or Biden.

Every person who has tried to sell software to a small Indian law firm has heard this: "Bhai, send me the proposal. I'll look at it." You follow up. "Still reviewing." You follow up again. Nothing. Three months pass. The deal is dead. You cut the price. Same response. You add features. Same response. You offer a free trial. They log in once and disappear. The problem is not your pricing. The problem is not your product. The problem is you are selling the wrong thing. Small Indian businesses do not buy software. They hire people. This is not a behavioral quirk. It is how trust and accountability work in this market. Think about what happened when Indian courts started going digital. E-filing became mandatory. Case status went online. Court orders became downloadable. The portals existed. They were not complicated. Any lawyer with a smartphone and an internet connection could have figured it out in an afternoon. Nobody figured it out. Instead, thousands of e-filing operators and court typists set up shop near every district court complex in India. The same typists who used to type petitions on typewriters now started filing cases online for lawyers. Charging Rs 200 to Rs 500 per filing. Just to use portals the lawyer could have accessed themselves. These operators now handle everything from e-filing to downloading court orders to checking case status. Many of them charge monthly retainers from 15 to 20 lawyers each. They are the person the lawyer calls when anything digital does not work. The lawyers did not want the portal. They wanted a person who would handle it and be answerable when a filing deadline was missed. Same story with GST. ClearTax built software. Tally added modules. The tools existed. Nobody learned. Instead, 3 lakh GST consultants emerged across India. Charging Rs 500 to Rs 2,000 per month per client. Just to file returns using tools the client could have accessed themselves. Because the person you hire is accountable. The app is not. Now apply this to AI. You build an AI workflow system for a 5-person law firm. Client intake automation. Hearing date reminders. Document drafting. Legal research summaries. It works beautifully. You try to sell it as a SaaS product for Rs 2,000 a month. They will not buy it. Not because Rs 2,000 is too much. They pay their munshi Rs 12,000 a month. They pay for their Manupatra subscription. They pay the typist outside court for e-filing. They will not buy it because they do not trust a subscription to an unknown product. Nobody to call when something breaks. Nobody accountable when the reminder does not go out before the limitation date. The way to sell AI to small Indian law firms is not to sell software. It is to sell yourself as the person who builds it, runs it, and fixes it. Rs 15,000 to 20,000 to build and set up. Rs 2,000 a month to maintain and be available. Same pricing as their e-filing operator. Same mental model. You are not a product. You are a person they can call. And here is where the distribution insight gets interesting. Think about who already walks into a lawyer's chamber every month. The legal book supplier. The local distributor who drops off bare acts and commentaries. These people have been visiting the same 200 to 300 lawyers for years. They know which advocate sits in which chamber. They know their practice area, their court, their temperament. The lawyer already trusts this person. Already buys from them. Already opens the door when they knock. Now imagine that book supplier says: "Sir, along with your commentary subscription, I can also set up an AI system for your office. Hearing date reminders, draft notices, client follow-ups. Rs 15,000 setup, Rs 2,000 a month. I will handle everything." The conversion rate on that pitch is not 2 percent. It is 40 to 60 percent. Because the trust already exists. The relationship already exists. The regular access to the chamber already exists. The same applies to the stamp vendor and the notary agent who sees the same set of lawyers week after week. Or the munshi inside the firm who handles all the filings and would be the one actually operating any new system. This is how India adopts new technology. Not through app stores and LinkedIn ads. Through trusted intermediaries who bundle the new thing with an existing relationship. The person building AI deployment businesses for Indian law firms who figures this out first will not be selling to one advocate at a time. They will be training legal book suppliers and e-filing operators to offer this as a service to their existing clients. That is a distribution model. Not a product. Not a marketing funnel. The SaaS model assumes the buyer wants to learn and self-serve. The India model says: find the person the buyer already trusts. Work through them. One is selling software. The other is understanding how India actually works. Know anyone who has done this yet for legal software or AI in India?

💢 Video shared by the Iranian Instagram channel Kaf Khiaboon shows a woman volunteering at a checkpoint in Iran, as civilians take on expanding roles amid the U.S.-Israeli war. 🔸The footage comes as Israeli attacks have repeatedly targeted checkpoints and security personnel across Iran, including dozens of assassinations of internal security officers at several sites. 🔸Iranian officials have stressed public mobilization as a key pillar of defense. Parliament Speaker Mohammad Bagher Ghalibaf has described “missiles, the streets, and the Strait” as central to Iran’s strategy, while Supreme Leader Mojtaba Khamenei has said internal unity has thwarted U.S.-Israeli efforts to incite unrest. 🔸Drop Site reported recently on a broader mobilization campaign launched by Iran’s government calling on citizens to defend the country through checkpoint duty, medical care, rescue services, and other roles, with U.S. threatening further escalation and a potential ground invasion.