Earlier, LinkedIn used to be full of posts displaying the best of creative thinking and posturing by white collarwalas. There were executives sharing professional lessons they’d learnt from the homeless person they meet every day at the traffic light, with the mention of how much they donate to said panhandler. There were CEOs posting pictures of themselves swilling champagne while their own companies were laying off people in the hundreds.
But come April 22, the same people have ‘pivoted’. Within minutes of the news of the Pahalgam attack airing, they all became master strategists of war, veritable Santa Clausewitzs and Sun Tzus. Each post explains how India has already sent troops into Pakistan, how we should throw out all non-Hindus, and interrogate Kashmiri Muslim students studying in India – in anticipation of them becoming terrorists.
Others waxed eloquent on how and when we should send in the military to ‘wipe out’ Pakistan. Political insights and war strategy on display, post after post, from people whose biggest achievement is to have managed to link different worksheets on Excel. Who knew that the first line of offence when we attacked Pakistan wouldn’t be from the army, but from the ranks of general managers of MNCs, led by a commanding line of a band of startup brothers?
The prize, though, for the most unexpected line of defence goes to the foodies. Since I’m always interested in the genesis of common herbs and ingredients, a long post on a recipe group commending the illustrious DNA and historical lineage of one of my favourite dried herbs, Kasuri methi (made from fenugreek leaves), caught my eye. The title should have prepared me for what follows – ‘Stop calling dried methi leaves Kasuri methi!’ Frankly, I thought this was in the same vein as saying ‘Stop calling tea, ‘chai tea!” But no. The patriotic foodie gave us a detailed history on how Kasuri methi refers to dried fenugreek leaves grown in the Kasur region in Pakistan. He went into the soil conditions, cultivation cycles – only to finally get to the point. That the methi available in Indian markets is grown in India. So post-Pahalgam, when the flavour of the season is to boycott anything Pakistani, ‘let us stop calling dried methi as Kasuri methi and not give the name undue publicity’. I applaud the gentleman for his commitment to the cause. His post certainly stood head and shoulders above those others telling us to stop using Shan masalas and eating Karachi halwa (but stopped short of shunning (vegetable) biryani). Even patriots have their priorities. Friday night chole bhature doesn’t quite set the pulse racing.
Also, who will inform the patriotic gastronome that if we are to shun all food and ingredients introduced to us by marauders and conquerors, we will then have to remove tomatoes, chilis, Alfonso mangoes, potatoes, and the multifarious kebabs we love to eat, not to mention pulao, from our kitchens and plates?
Field Marshal Manekshaw and non-field marshal Churchill had nothing on these online soldiers who are promising to fight from the shared cubicle in their open-plan office space and their kitchen cabinets, one ingredient at a time. This is the stuff great military strategists could only dream of.
We shall fight from our air-conditioned offices. We shall fight on social media. We shall fight from our kitchens. Never surrender!
