CJP Protests 2026: The Epic Fight Between Cockroaches and Termites

Explore the CJP protests and a personal journey through systemic corruption, exam scams, and how today's youth are battling institutional termites.

Termites in the Temple of Merit: A Lifetime of Watching Youth Fight a Rigged System

It is the season of protests once again.

On the streets, a familiar electric current hangs in the air - a mix of raw youth angst, burning ambitions, and deep-seated despair. Watching the protests unfold under the CJP banner, I am instantly hurtled back decades to my own hey-days, when students flooded the streets against the Mandal Commission recommendations. Who can ever forget the haunting image of the youth who self-immolated, instantly becoming the tragic poster boy of a generation's desperation?

Back then, the youth felt their future was insecure. Decades later, walking the exact same path, they still feel it. Nothing much has changed.

The system continues to fail to provide a level playing field for government jobs and professional courses. Worse yet, the mechanisms meant to safeguard merit - competitive exams, professional degrees, and public service selections - have lost all credibility. The institutional architecture has been hollowed out by corrupt figures who have termited its integrity from within. Today, the youth—often treated as expendable (cockroaches in popular parlance) - are fighting an epic, uphill battle against these institutional termites.

It reminds me of a classic cinematic struggle, one I will come to in just a moment. But first, let me take you back to my own encounter with this very system.

The Gangotri Days and the Lure of KAS

It was 1994–95. I was deep into my postgraduate program at the Gangotri PG campus, a place buzzing with youthful energy and academic ambition.

The Karnataka Public Service Commission (KPSC) had finally called for applications to fill Gazetted Probationary posts in Group A and B after several years. For aspirants, it was a beacon of hope and excitement. Even though well-wishers advised me to focus on the Central Civil Services instead, the timing felt right. I figured I could easily bunk my second-semester MBA exams and catch up by the fourth.

The exams were conducted by the KPSC, an organization that - even back then - did not enjoy a particularly sterling reputation. But hope triumphs over history. I took the leap.

Months blurred into years, and the results were finally announced around 1998–99. By then, I had already transitioned into the private sector. One bright morning as the results were announced, alongside my father, I walked up to the KPSC office directly opposite the majestic Vidhan Soudha.

There it was: the official notice board, housed in a caged wooden box reminiscent of college notice boards. Straining our eyes through the grilled glass windows, I managed to see my score: 876. The topper, Kaveri (whom I would meet many years later), had scored 940 (the numbers are imprinted in my mind). Later, after a conversation with Sanaullah, the then-KPSC secretary, I left with the firm impression that I had aced the exams. Given the minimum qualifying thresholds, I was virtually assured one of the top three postings in government service. (atleast the Treasuries if not the Police or the DM)

The Great Unravelling

But a rotten system cannot hide its stench for long.

It soon turned out that the entire examination process was structurally compromised. Postgraduate students in universities had not just taken the exams; astonishingly, some of the very same students had been roped in to evaluate the answer papers and award marks. These PG guys could fake a certificate to get a job as it turned out recently

 

The public fury was volcanic. With the glaring conflict of interest exposed, the entire exam was annulled.

The government took the unprecedented decision to ship roughly 1.5 lakh answer scripts to other states for re-evaluation, delaying the process by another couple of years. When the revised results finally trickled out, my dismay was complete: my score had plummeted from 876 to around 782.

Though I performed reasonably well in the interview and was eventually offered a government posting, it fell far short of my expectations (Yes the merit was strong enough to secure a posting without the mandatory bribing albiet a compromised one). Already well-established and thriving in the private sector, I simply opted out (people thought i was crazy because Govt jobs are so coveted).

Yet, the lingering takeaway wasn't my personal scorecard; it was the chilling realization of how hollow, rotten, and corrupt the entire apparatus was. Watching students take to the streets in Delhi today against broken competitive exam systems feels like watching a cruel, generational rerun of a movie I’ve already seen.

Nepotism, Notitisms, and the Permanent Elite

The KPSC had a terrible reputation then, and frankly, it carries that exact same baggage today.

The chairmen who head these commissions - almost always political appointees - often function as colossal figures of patronage. They secure positions for their chosen favorites while extracting a heavy toll from those desperate for plum postings.

Even during my time, it was an open secret in political circles. It was a common refrain that the Deve Gowda (former PM) had ensured that one of his son (Balakrishne Gowda) was accommodated in a separate room to write the KPSC exam back in 1978, paving his way into the KAS which ended abruptly with a chequered corruption history in 2005. This is the entrenched, multi-generational nepotism and corruption that turns public service into a private fiefdom.

The Final Scene: Sajjan-Durjana Sangrama

This brings me full circle, back to the cinematic masterpiece I promised you.

Think of the iconic Kannada classic Paduvarahalli Pandavaru, directed by the legendary Puttanna Kanagal (later remade in Hindi as Hum Paanch in 1980/81).

In the film, the marginalized youth of a village finally reach their breaking point, rising in fierce revolt against systemic injustices. The ending scene is nothing short of epic. It shows the young protagonists relentlessly chasing down the corrupt perpetrators who thought they were untouchable.

As the credits roll, the haunting song "Sajjan-Durjana Sangrama" (The Battle Between the Virtuous and the Wicked) echoes through the air - capturing the timeless, eternal struggle of ordinary people fighting to reclaim their dignity from the termites of power.

Today, as the youth battle the modern equivalents of those very same systemic termites, that song still plays in the background of our collective conscience.

The Partition of India: How Cold War Geopolitics, Not Just-Politics, Forced the British Exit

Think Satyagraha and Non Cooperation triggered the freedom of India and Jinnah's two nation theory the partition of the country? Think again. Discover how Lord Wavell’s secret Breakdown Plan and a bankrupt post-WWII Britain facing Soviet Cold War threats actually shaped the chaotic 1947 retreat from the Raj.

We’ve all heard the textbook version of how India gained independence. It’s usually framed as an epic, binary clash of philosophies: on one side, the high-minded ideals of non-violence and non-cooperation; on the other, Mohammad Ali Jinnah’s unyielding demand for a separate state based on the two-nation theory.

In this popular narrative, the British are often portrayed as master divide & rule players, coolly manipulating every move until they were finally forced out by pure moral force.

But if you look at the actual historical receipts from 1945 to 1947, the reality looks less like a grand freedom struggle victory and a lot more like a bankrupt landlord trying to sneak out of a burning building in the middle of the night.

The Myth of the Graceful Exit

For decades, popular history has given massive credit to the political maneuvering within India for "winning" independence. While the massive mobilization of the Indian public was undeniable, believing that the British Empire - an entity not historically famous for its deep moral conscience - suddenly packed its bags purely because people stopped buying their salt is a bit of a stretch.

By 1945, Great Britain was fundamentally exhausted. World War II had left the country financially ruined, deeply in debt, and utterly incapable of maintaining a global empire by force. The British weren't leaving because they were suddenly enlightened; they were leaving because the checks were bouncing.
Enter Lord Wavell and the "Let’s Get Out of Here" Plan. Paul Kennedy called it the 'frontiers of instability' in his book "The Rise & Fall of the Great Powers" as elucidated by a US army veteran below in the context of current US-Iran war.

Take a look at Lord Archibald Wavell, the Viceroy of India from 1943 to 1947. Mainstream history often sidelines him in favor of the more photogenic Lord Mountbatten, but Wavell’s private papers reveal what the British government was actually losing sleep over.

Wavell didn't initially want Partition. He spent a significant amount of time trying to hold a united India together through the Wavell Plan and the Simla Conference of 1945. But when negotiations between the Indian National Congress and the Muslim League broke down, Wavell didn't double down on imperial control. Instead, he quietly drew up a highly confidential Breakdown Plan.

This wasn't a blueprint for grand statecraft; it was a tactical evacuation plan. The priorities of the Breakdown Plan weren't hidden in complex moral philosophy. They were explicitly about:

• Avoiding a massive civil war and a mutiny among Indian forces that Britain couldn't afford to police.
• Ensuring the safe, orderly withdrawal of British military forces.
• Protecting imperial strategic interests in the Indian Ocean and the approaches to the Middle East.

The Partition of India : The Soviet Shadow and the Real Mapmakers

While local politicians were debating the finer points of federalism (they even toyed around with the idea of a Dominion republic because the anglo-gentrification of INC leaders was complete by then) versus partition, the British eye was firmly fixed on a completely different player: the Soviet Union.

As the Cold War began to simmer in the immediate post-war era, London was terrified of Soviet expansion toward the oil fields of the Middle East and the warm waters of the Indian Ocean. British geopolitical calculations required a rapid exit from the subcontinent to consolidate their military strength elsewhere.

When Jinnah and the Muslim League pushed the two-nation theory, it inadvertently intersected with these British strategic anxieties. Wavell’s secret contingency thinking - which recognized that if a unified India collapsed, Punjab and Bengal would have to be divided - laid the actual groundwork for what Mountbatten eventually executed in a frantic rush.

The Takeaway

The final, chaotic execution of 1947 wasn't a victory of local political strategy.

Instead, it was a textbook case of what historian Paul Kennedy, in his seminal book The Rise and Fall of the Great Powers, famously analyzed as imperial overstretch. Kennedy observed that when an empire's global ambitions and military commitments outrun its economic foundations, it inevitably creates crumbling "frontiers of instability."

By 1947, a bankrupt post-war Britain could no longer afford to police its largest frontier. Terrified of Soviet expansion and unable to maintain order, they chose a frantic, strategic retreat - proving that the map of modern South Asia was ultimately drawn by the harsh gravity of global geopolitics, not local ideals.

Thar-mageddon: Why Every Traffic Light is Now a Bollywood Stunt Set

From Ladakh's lakes to tiger reserves, discover why some Thar owners drive like main characters. A look at the 'bold' Thar car phenomenon from a very calm, very sober XUV 500 driver's perspective.

The Thar Car Effect: Why Every Traffic Signal is Now a Movie Set

Welcome back to the blog! Today, I’m putting down the coffee and picking up the keys to a mystery that’s been hiding among the news in my morning schedule.

We’ve all seen them. The vehicle that doesn’t just arrive on the road - it invades it. I’m talking about the Mahindra Thar. And I’m starting to wonder: what exactly is the secret ingredient in the Thar owner’s morning tea that makes them act like Jaykant Shikre from Singham the moment they hit the driver’s seat?

Crafted for the Bold" (Or Just Crafted for Chaos?)

You’ve seen the ads. Mahindra tells us the Thar is "crafted for the bold." It’s a nice sentiment, really. But somewhere along the line, "bold" seems to have been translated into "I am the main character of this universe and you are merely an NPC blocking my lane."

Take the other slogan: “Weekend ends, adventure doesn’t.”

Most people interpret "adventure" as a nice drive through the hills. For the modern Thar enthusiast, however, the adventure begins when the tarmac ends - or, more accurately, when the law ends. As seen in the attached news snippet,  four tourists recently found out that the Ladakh administration doesn't share their enthusiasm for "off-roading" in the pristine, ecologically fragile Pangong Lake. A hefty ₹2 lakh fine was the punchline to that particular adventure.

And let’s not forget the Ranthambhore escapade, where an entire troupe of Thar and Scorpio owners decided that a tiger reserve’s core zone was the perfect place for a private rally, leading to 19 seized vehicles and some very bewildered forest rangers. Apparently, when you own a Thar, a "Prohibited Area" sign is just a suggestion, like "please don't feed the pigeons."

The "Thartard" Mentality: A New Epidemic

Why does the Thar owner mentality seem to run riot like an English football fan on a rainy night, but on our local highways instead?

We’ve seen the viral videos - people driving on the wrong side of the road, literally bragging that their vehicle acts as a "get out of jail free" card. It’s as if the moment they sit behind that wheel, a psychological switch flips. Common sense hits the eject button, and in its place is a burning desire to bully rickshaw drivers and treat the rules of the road as optional DLC. It’s a chaotic energy that makes me miss the days when road rage was just someone honking twice at a red light.

The XUV 500: The Poor Country Cousin

Now, I drive an XUV 500. I look at my own car, and honestly, it feels like the poor country cousin in comparison. Sure, it shares the same engine DNA - the mHawk 2.2 lt Diesel engine - but the similarity ends there.

My XUV is a "sober" vehicle. It takes me from point A to point B without needing to perform a stunt or invade a national park. If the Thar is the loud, impulsive, leather-jacket-wearing bad boy of the family, the XUV 500 is the accountant brother who just wants to make sure everyone wears their seatbelts and gets home on time.

Maybe it’s time we reminded ourselves that being "bold" doesn't have to mean being a public nuisance. Until then, I’ll keep driving my XUV, staying safely in my lane, and watching the "adventures" from a safe, law-abiding distance.

What’s the most "main character" behavior you’ve witnessed on the road lately? Let me know in the comments!