Bunkers, Gunpowder Smell, Mindless Lobby and Bollywood

I have lived long enough to distrust glamour. When a place begins advertising itself too loudly as paradise, I instinctively look for the nearest exit.

For years Indians were told that the future lived somewhere outside India. Usually in Dubai. Occasionally in Europe. America, of course, remained the eternal reference point. India was merely the place we tolerated until we could afford to escape it.

The sermon came to us through Bollywood. Shah Rukh Khan, with his familiar charm and practiced sincerity, informed us that Dubai was his “second home.” In the advertisements the camera always rose slowly toward the Burj Khalifa, as if modern civilization had decided to express itself through a very tall building.

I watched these advertisements with mild amusement. The subtext was obvious: if you wanted to see the future, you had to leave India behind.

Then came the next wave of ambassadors. Virat Kohli and Anushka Sharma floated through luxury reels in Dubai. Infinity pools. Rooftop dinners. Cantilevered buildings stretching toward the desert sky. Everything looked spotless, expensive and perfectly lit.

One almost expected angels to descend from the rooftop bar. But life has a habit of interrupting carefully framed photographs. Somewhere not far from those infinity pools, evacuation lines can become inconveniently long when geopolitics decides to pay a visit.

Then there were the slogans. Saif Ali Khan and Sara Ali Khan told us with cheerful conviction: “Dubai — A Whole New You.” I suspect they were right. A whole new you may involve carrying a small emergency bag and remembering the address of the nearest bunker.

Abu Dhabi also joined the Bollywood pilgrimage. Deepika Padukone and Ranveer Singh assured us that it was a place of pure air, luxury and family happiness. I have no reason to doubt them. I will only add that modern missile systems also have a fairly generous family range.

Then came nostalgia marketing. Hrithik Roshan, Farhan Akhtar and Abhay Deol reunited to tell us to say yes to life on Yas Island. “Zindagi Ko Yas Bol,” they said with great enthusiasm.

At present, in several parts of the world, life appears to be temporarily on hold. The control room will announce when normal programming resumes. The advertisements themselves do not bother me very much. Tourism boards exist to sell fantasies. That is their job. What amused me more was the solemn approval from our intellectual classes.

They watched these advertisements and nodded gravely. “See,” they said. “That is civilization.” Dubai breathes freedom. Europe breathes culture. India, according to them, breathes pollution. India’s roads are broken. India’s politics is chaotic. India’s institutions are unreliable.

On some days they were not entirely wrong. But geopolitics has a wicked sense of humour. Dubai now occasionally breathes the faint smell of detonation fumes. Europe is discovering that prosperity is not a permanent condition. The United States, which once behaved like the headmaster of the global classroom, now appears to be arguing with half its own students.

And India? India is doing something deeply unfashionable. India is boring. No missile sirens disturbing people at breakfast. No frantic evacuation flights from luxury skylines. No dramatic collapse of alliances. Just a large, argumentative democracy going about its business.

I find this boredom rather comforting. What is particularly entertaining is the silence of the commentators who once lectured us about India’s foreign policy. They used to ask very confident questions. Why is Narendra Modi hugging Putin? Why is he calling Netanyahu “brother”? Why is India buying Russian oil? Why is India talking to Iran? According to them, India had no spine. Our diplomacy was embarrassing.

I would like to hear those lectures again. Because the very policy they mocked is the reason India looks reasonably comfortable today. India spoke to everyone - Russia, The United States, Israel, Iran, The Gulf states and Europe. Even Afghanistan was not entirely erased from the conversation.

Critics called it compromise. Diplomats would probably call it common sense. Talking to Russia ensured energy supplies. Working with the United States strengthened technology and defence cooperation. Maintaining relations with Israel, Iran and the Gulf simultaneously ensured that India was not locked out of one of the most important regions in the world.

In other words, while Bollywood was filming glamorous reels beside infinity pools, someone in New Delhi was quietly keeping several diplomatic doors open.

I have learned that foreign policy, like good whisky, works best when it is mature, patient and not advertised too loudly. India is not perfect. It still quarrels with itself every day. Pollution remains stubborn. Bureaucrats occasionally behave like minor emperors. But today India occupies a rare position. It is not bleeding. It is not begging. It is not bowing.

In a world that increasingly smells of gunpowder, that is not a trivial achievement. So yes, the advertisements continue. Infinity pools. Rooftop dinners. Luxury skylines. They are lovely images. But when the bunkers open and the air begins to smell faintly of explosives, one realizes that strategy is more useful than scenery.

The celebrities sold us a dream. India, somewhat unfashionably, decided to keep its options open. And for once, the boring approach seems to be working rather well.