The article titled “CROSSING BORDERS” is the main headline for the cover story featured on pages 8 and 9 of the sources, which is titled “GOING TO PAKISTAN”.
Written by Aditya Mani Jha, the article explores how Pakistan is depicted in the Indian cultural imagination not just as a perennial antagonist, but as a landscape for memory, loss, and reconciliation. Below is the reproduction of the article based on the sources:
GOING TO PAKISTAN
By Aditya Mani Jha
There’s a scene at the halfway mark of Sriram Raghavan’s Ikkis (2026) that encapsulates the film’s pacifist mindset. It’s 2001, just a couple of years after the India-Pakistan war in Kargil. Retired Brigadier Madan Lal Khetarpal (the late Dharmendra) is in Pakistan, having made the journey seemingly to visit Sargodha, his hometown. But he has another motive as well, to see the place where his son Arun Khetarpal was martyred during the 1971 India-Pakistan war. Khetarpal, relaxing with his hosts, is rudely interrupted by a disabled Pakistani ex-soldier named Jahangir (Deepak Dobriyal), who calls him an “Indian dog”, ranting about his entire regiment being killed by the Indian Army. Khetarpal gets up and embraces Jahangir, insisting that he too is a fauji (soldier) and knows the unvarnished horrors of war intimately, a powerful reminder of Jahangir and Khetarpal’s shared humanity.
Ikkis isn’t the only recent Bollywood film to invoke Sargodha (in Pakistan’s Punjab province). Imtiaz Ali’s Main Vaapas Aaungaa (2026) is about Ishar Singh Grewal (Naseeruddin Shah) whose grandson Nirvair (Diljit Dosanjh) helps him reconnect with the Sargodha of his childhood and youth, especially his first love, Afsana (Sharvari) and the long-repressed memories of the losses his family suffered during the communal violence of August 1947. Both Ikkis and Main Vaapas Aaungaa involve an emotional journey to Pakistan, one that brings about catharsis. Their protagonists have to visit the land of the Other to find themselves, to acknowledge a part of themselves that usually stays hidden for familial or sociopolitical reasons.
In recent years, a number of books, films and plays have approached Indo-Pak engagements in this humanistic, compassionate vein, where the journey to Pakistan brings closure and/or significant personal growth. This includes Geetanjali Shree’s International Booker-winning Hindi novel Ret Samadhi (translated into English by Daisy Rockwell as Tomb of Sand), Sachin NG’s novel Dear Zahira, With Love, and Sarnath Banerjee’s graphic novel Absolute Jafar. The upcoming Rajkumar Santoshi film Batwara 1947 too is based on a classic of the subgenre, Asghar Wajahat’s play Jis Lahore Nahi Vekhya O Jamya E Nahi.
These are works of art in the Dhurandhar era where the dominant expression is one of paranoia and conspiracy theories, of deep and abiding enmity. When viewed in this context, the cultural importance of a Tomb of Sand or an Ikkis is further enhanced. These stories are potent reminders of an alternative vision for India-Pakistan engagement, one marked by mutual respect and forgiveness.
THE NATION AND THE SELF
“I think one of the most impressive things about the screenplay of Ikkis is how it humanises the Pakistani soldier,” says Vivaan Shah, who played Captain Malhotra aka “Mallu” in the film. “If we look at the recent history of Hindi cinema, there is no shortage of films where Pakistani soldiers are just evil caricatures, with no depth or nuance or character evolution. Captain Malhotra, however, does not have a personal hatred of his counterparts, he is just doing his duty for his country”.
Shah observes that since Veer-Zaara (2004), Bollywood had practically stopped making films that expressed anything other than naked military aggression towards Pakistan (a notable exception is the 2015 Salman Khan film Bajrangi Bhaijaan, directed by Kabir Khan). In that same time-frame, however, practically every leading man in Bollywood has notched up at least one gung-ho nationalist war drama apiece. When you consider those two facts together, the ardent pacifism of Ikkis feels like even more of an outlier. And it’s worth noting that the film achieves this with a symmetrical approach.
We mourn Khetarpal’s loss. But we also feel for Jaideep Ahlawat’s character, the Pakistani Brig. Jaan Mohammad Nisar, when he loses a young officer called Altaf; Nisar had promised Altaf’s father that he would protect the boy. For a film depicting a soldier’s ultimate sacrifice at age 21, Ikkis never allows the nation-state to overwhelm the self.
In Main Vaapas Aaunga, the nation and the self are pitted against each other from the first act. Towards the beginning of the film, we see Ishar (young Ishar is played by Vedang Raina) watching Afsana recite Premchand’s Hindi-Urdu short story Duniya Ka Sabse Anmol Ratan, at a college event hosted by the Progressive Writers’ Association (PWA), an anti-imperialist, left-leaning writers’ movement started by Sajjad Zaheer, Mulk Raj Anand and other major writers of the 1920s and 1930s. Premchand translated their manifesto into Hindi and delivered the historical presidential address at its inaugural meeting in Lucknow in April 1936.
Duniya Ka Sabse Anmol Ratan is framed as a love story in which Dilfigar is madly in love with a beautiful woman named Dilfareb, who demands that he bring her “duniya ka sabse anmol ratan” (the world’s most precious gem). At the conclusion of the story the lovers agree that the world’s most precious thing is “the last drop of blood that spills to protect the nation”. Premchand and the PWA famously championed social-realist literature that was supposed to aid the ongoing freedom struggle. Premchand’s efforts towards imposing a common, unified Hindi register (khari boli) across the publishing world, for example, served the needs of Mahatma Gandhi’s national movement.
By the end of Main Vaapas Aaunga, however, Ishar and Afsana have chosen themselves over nationalism, much like the young Gandhian lovers of the R.K. Narayan novel Waiting for the Mahatma (1955). The poetry that the duo recite to each other is pure escapism, blatantly and unapologetically sentimental, everything the PWA abhorred in a work of literature. Shortly after the day of Partition, Ishar promises Afsana, “main vaapas aaungaa” (I shall return). He therefore commits to a subversion, a reversal of Premchand’s call-to-sacrifice.
Unlike Dharmendra’s Brig. Khetarpal in Ikkis, Naseeruddin Shah’s older Ishar in Main Vaapas Aaungaa is physically too frail to make the journey to Pakistan himself—so his grandson Nirvair does it for him, staying in touch via video calls. This serves a dual narrative purpose because both grandfather and grandson end up experiencing their own respective catharses. Watching his grandfather holding on to the hope of seeing Afsana again, the commitment-phobic Nirvair is inspired to mend fences with his on-again, off-again girlfriend Kaveri (Banita Sandhu). In the 2019 Salman Khan-starrer Bharat, directed by Ali Abbas Zafar, there is a similar subplot where a TV channel run by the character Kumud (Katrina Kaif) uses video calls to reunite long-lost relatives separated during Partition.
In Ikkis and Main Vaapas Aaunga, the Indian protagonists travelling to Pakistan are helped by well-intentioned Pakistani characters throughout their journeys. This is not just crucial to plot progression, it is also designed to show the audience that “regular” people on both sides of the border are likely to value humanity over aggression and military posturing. In 1998, the New Delhi-based Centre for the Study of Developing Societies (CSDS) commenced a Partition-related study called Reconstructing Lives, led by political psychologist Ashis Nandy and historian Rajmohan Gandhi. The CSDS team interviewed over 1,300 survivors of Partition violence and over 40% of them shared stories of somebody from “the other side” helping them at a time when they needed it the most. Nandy later drew upon this research in a 2002 essay called Death of an Empire (published in The Sarai Reader 02) in which he identified repressed trauma as a significant factor shaping South-Asian societies, especially India and Pakistan.
The older Ishar (Shah) in Main Vaapas Aaunga constantly speaks in a kind of coded nonsense, talking about Martians and Adolf Hitler and Kapil Dev while also describing the old-fashioned pleasures of Sargodha. It’s a memorable delivery style, reminiscent of the gibberish spoken by Manto’s immortal character in his 1955 short story Toba Tek Singh, who is confused whether his hometown Toba Tek Singh is in India or Pakistan. For Harshul Kaul, who plays the role of Aftab Ahmedzai, the best friend of young Ishar (Raina), Ishar’s mindful-drivel was reminiscent of a poignant family memory. “Naseer sahab is obviously one of the best actors we have ever seen,” says Kaul, who belongs to a Kashmiri Pandit family. “He really makes you feel the pain of a person who has been uprooted from their home overnight. It reminded me of my own grandmother who would usually avoid talking about the past. But in her last days, when her mind was declining, she would talk about her childhood all the time, wanting to go back to places she hadn’t been to in decades”.
Nandy’s Death of an Empire also describes the friction among families affected by Partition. Building on the work of American sociologist Stephen Keller, Nandy wrote that survivors of Partition violence are “not only more aggressive in their professional and public life, but also within their families”. Indeed, when we are introduced to the various members of older Ishar’s family (like his son Iqbal, played by Rajat Kapoor), we immediately see how cruel and secretive they can be with each other. And this is another narrative purpose of the journey-to-Pakistan: addressing familial and personal dysfunction. By the end of the film, Nirvair has mended fences with his father Iqbal. He has also overcome his commitment issues to Kaveri.
TO ILLUMINATE BOTH SIDES
All of these narrative strands—Partition, Pakistan, secret past lives, border brinkmanship—find elegant expression in Geetanjali Shree’s Tomb of Sand. The novel’s octogenarian protagonist Ma (Chandraprabha Devi) falls into a deep depression after her husband’s death, turning her back to the world, literally, for extended periods of time. She eventually moves into her daughter’s house, befriending a trans person named Rosie, who sometimes also appears as the male-presenting Raza. Following Rosie’s tragic death, Ma takes it upon herself to fulfil her late friend’s request: to carry chironji seeds across the border to someone Rosie knew back in Pakistan (like Ma, Rosie too crossed over to India during Partition). Ma’s daughter, referred to only as Beti (daughter) across the book, takes Ma to her old Pakistani abode, and it is revealed that she was once married to a Muslim man named Anwar.
“The bond between Ma and Rosie begins with their shared past,” says Shree. “But their friendship also grows because that shared past is a mostly buried one. There is nobody in their present lives with whom they can talk about this, and talking about it is the only way they can keep that past alive, in a way. So while I didn’t plan it that way, there is certainly a ‘mutual healing’ aspect between Ma and Rosie”.
A telling moment in the novel’s third act sees Ma at the Wagah border, being asked if her name is “Chandraprabha Devi” (the first time her name is revealed). She replies that her name is Chanda, reverting to her pre-Partition identity. She is a full individual again, a Chanda who once chose to be one half of the Anwar-Chanda love story. The whole interrogation scene, in fact, is a masterclass in dark comedy as Ma answers the relentless, pointless questions with wit and mischief. At one point, she invokes the writer Intizar Husain.
“The constant quarrel between India and Pakistan is sinister, and often leads to a lot of violence,” says Shree. “But it is also silly, it’s bewakoofi, like classroom bullying. When relations between the two nations were slightly better (during the “Aman Ki Asha” phase to promote relations between the two countries in 2010, for instance) there was a ton of visas issued, everybody was going to Pakistan. And the moment there’s even a slight skirmish at the border, all travel becomes very, very difficult. So with that interrogation scene I wanted to have elements of the sinister, alongside some silliness as well”.
The invocation of Husain in the interrogation scene is also significant because his novels like Basti and Aage Samandar Hai featured Indian-born Muslim protagonists who moved to Pakistan during Partition to ensure their physical safety. However, their cultural and spiritual selves are torn asunder, their plight demonstrating the impossibility of thinking about “Indian” and “Pakistani” as mutually exclusive psychological categories. In his 1992 essay On Serpents, Inevitability and the South Asian Imagination, Ziauddin Sardar wrote that South-Asian societies are fictitious entities shaped by popular myths about each other—he was making the argument in the context of India, Pakistan and Bangladesh. When characters like Ma eventually make the trip to Pakistan, often late in life, the stories inside their heads are being “finished” by these cathartic journeys, bringing them closure-via-narrative.
One overarching theme in Tomb of Sand is the border, and how we view it in a new light. At one point, Ma asks her daughter: “What is a border? It’s something that surrounds an existence, it is a person’s perimeter. No matter how large, no matter how small. The edge of a handkerchief, the border of a tablecloth, the embroidery around my shawl. The edges of the sky. The beds of flowers in this yard. The borders of fields. The parapet around this roof. A picture frame. Everything has a border. However, a border is not created to be removed. It is meant to illuminate both sides”.
While Tomb of Sand’s “event zero” is a Hindu-Muslim, Indo-Pak marriage from the 1940s, Sarnath Banerjee’s graphic novel Absolute Jafar depicts the trajectory of a 21st century Hindu-Muslim, Indo-Pak marriage (a lightly fictionalised version of Banerjee’s own), and the raising of a child who’s both Indian and Pakistani. Banerjee’s longtime authorial stand-in Brighu meets, falls for and marries Mahrukh, whose family is from Karachi. The bureaucratic and sociopolitical blind spots that this unique marriage exposes in Brighu and Mahrukh’s worlds form the heart of Absolute Jafar.
One of the most memorable illustrations in the book is a full-page, full-colour painting of a large, comfy-looking jacket. Upon further inspection, you realise that the zipper’s teeth-like segments are actually human hands. Near the top, the hands are united in a firm grip but as we move towards the bottom, the hands slowly move away until finally, they are entirely disparate elements on the page. The painting is at the beginning of a chapter titled Aman Ki Asha, which pokes gentle fun at the eponymous Indo-Pak campaign from the 2000s.
Absolute Jafar wears its erudition quite lightly. I would recommend reading it in tandem with an earlier book that explores the same subject in prose, with a much wider lens — Amitava Kumar’s Husband of a Fanatic (2005), a book-length personal essay about Kumar’s own Indo-Pak marriage. The title of the book refers to the initial fears voiced by his mother who wondered if her new daughter-in-law was one of “those” Muslims.
Husband of a Fanatic is filled with startling, often cinematic moments involving the Kafkaesque absurdities of Kumar’s situation. A memorable essay titled Lunch with a Bigot (later reappearing in a 2015 collection of the same name) sees Kumar being lectured by an elderly far-right America-dwelling Indian man who grudgingly accepts the interreligious marriage. And why? Because to the old man’s eyes, such a marriage meant that Kumar was, in fact, “f***ing Islam”. Kumar also travels to Pakistan to meet his wife’s folks, and grudgingly accepts the fact that for them, religious identity was inextricably tied up with political identity.
Twenty-odd years later Kumar is a parent to Gen-Z children, and has taught at New York’s Vassar College for the last 20-odd years. I asked him if this generation of young people (whether diasporic or otherwise) is also likely to fall for the same phobias. “I remain optimistic,” Kumar says. “Among the American diaspora there is a segment that is quite hawkish, you can say, on Indo-Pak or Hindu-Muslim relations, and then there has always been a segment that is more openly bigoted. But I think that young people, whether in India or Pakistan or America, have started to realise the lies told to them by opportunistic politicians of their parents’ generation. Look at the recent student protests across India, I think it is precisely because of that”.
A year before Husband of a Fanatic was published, the Indian men’s cricket team toured Pakistan again after a gap of 15 years. The writer and journalist Rahul Bhattacharya accompanied the team and later wrote Pundits from Pakistan (2005). In the concluding chapter of the book, Bhattacharya was once again close to the Wagah border and noted that the surprisingly low fence before him appeared to be non-electric. This is confirmed in a rather amusing fashion when Sachin Tendulkar is given permission to pose for a photograph where he’s smiling with one leg on either side of the fence— an apt and arresting image to capture the “shared mania” of Indian and Pakistani cricketing fans.
WHY DON’T YOU GO TO PAKISTAN?
Last month, the BBC reported on how Pakistani 20-somethings were enjoying the visuals coming in from Delhi’s Jantar Mantar, of youngsters sporting cockroach helmets, T-shirts with memes and other kinds of flamboyant, theatrical protest techniques. A good story performed live just “hits different”, as the kids say. I was reminded of the time I watched Asmita Theatre’s production of the 1989 Asghar Wajahat play Jis Lahore Nai Vekhya O Jamya E Nahi (he who hasn’t seen Lahore hasn’t truly lived). It was performed in a mixture of Hindi and Urdu with smatterings of Punjabi. The play follows Sikander Mirza, a Muslim trader in Lucknow, who is expelled from India with his family during Partition. Upon reaching Lahore, the Mirzas are allotted a haveli only to realise that Mai, the Hindu matriarch of the family that owned it, is still living there. Slowly, the Mirzas strike up a rapport with the old woman and start considering her a part of their family—much to the chagrin of local fundamentalists.
“There are certain plays that really speak to the atmosphere that we endure as a society today,” says Asmita founder Arvind Gaur. “This is one of them. It stands firmly against hate. In the story we see characters changing their mindset, their preconceived notions. And more broadly speaking, I believe that art is the medium through which we can bring about a change in people’s thinking”. The name of the play refers to the fact that pre-independence Lahore was a unique and vibrant place. Back then, it was widely considered to be the cultural capital of the Indian subcontinent.
Lahore’s cultural status is precisely why the play’s villain feels even more egregious—Yakoob Pehalwan, an opportunist bigot with delusions of grandeur who sneers at the learned, and will stop at nothing to attain power and influence. Yakoob leads the propaganda efforts against the Mirzas, and insists that they expel Mai immediately. Some of the high points of the play occur during the verbal sparring between Yakoob and a character called Nasir Kazmi, a fictionalised rendition of the real-life poet of the same name. The half-crazed Kazmi has been expelled from Ambala and now wanders the streets of Lahore, spouting beautiful, sometimes disjointed pieces of poetry—between successive scenes, there are musical interludes featuring the real-world Nasir Kazmi’s verses set to tune.
“From the time I was doing lights on Habib Tanvir’s production of Jis Lahore in the early 1990s I found the Nasir Kazmi character to be fascinating,” says Gaur. “He is a man whose refined sensitivities are incompatible with the sociopolitical realities of the era he is living through. Being violently displaced from his home makes him vulnerable but also gives him a kind of poetic licence to say the things that others won’t say openly”. Jis Lahore is currently in the headlines because of Rajkumar Santoshi’s upcoming film adaptation, called Batwara 1947, slated for theatrical release on 14 August. Sunny Deol plays Sikander Mirza, Shabana Azmi plays Mai and Abhimanyu Singh plays Yakoob Pehalwan.
One of the many strands picked up by Wajahat in Jis Lahore is the many similarities (and minute differences) between the spoken Punjabi on either side of the border. Punjabis on the Indian side have always been heavy consumers of Punjabi-inflected Pakistani media. Pakistani comedians through the 1980s and 1990s like Umar Sharif or Moin Akhtar were sold widely at music shops and even paan/cigarette shops. Comedic plays they acted in would be recorded and repackaged via VHS.
In 2006, Rauf Lala was invited to be a part of the popular Indian TV show The Great Indian Laughter Challenge’s second season—Lala ended up being a huge hit with audiences, eventually winning the Challenge via a combination of judges’ scores and audience polls. Conversely, in 2016, Indian singer Shilpa Rao recorded a song called Paar Chanaa De for the Pakistani TV show Coke Studio Pakistan, where artists record live versions of both classic and contemporary songs.
Since most people do not, in fact, get the opportunity to see Pakistan for themselves, media consumption functions as a stand-in, a metaphorical journey for a lot of Indians. A couple of months ago, the Pakistani actor Shahzad Nawaz revealed that Indian screen legend Sharmila Tagore had sent him a congratulatory message for his villainous character “Dr Shahnawaz” in the popular Pakistani soap Doctor Bahu. Tagore had asked a mutual friend to tell Nawaz, “Dr Shahnawaz mujhe itna naapasand hai ki aap please is actor ko mubaarakbaad denaa meri taraf se (I hate Dr Shahnawaz so much that I request you to convey my congratulations to the actor)”.
For Sachin NG, author of Dear Zahira, With Love, the moment of inspiration first arrived via the thrill of a live performance. The book is an epistolary Indo-Pak romance between Hawaldaar Ghulam Ali and Zahira Raza, a British Raj-era limb-fitter and an amputee, respectively. The two fall in love after he fits her with an artificial leg that gives her a new lease of life. After Ghulam Ali is expelled to Pakistan and is unable to return, the two begin writing letters to each other. It is a sweet, rather old-fashioned romance with all the underlying pathos of the Partition baked in. Sachin first encountered the story of Hawaldaar Ghulam Ali in a dastangoi performance called Dastaan e Taqseem e Hind—this was based on real-life correspondence found in museum archives.
“When I heard the story live, as told by Ankit Chadha and Himanshu Bajpai, I was mesmerised,” says Sachin. “It was such a classic, universal romance and yet, there were qualities to the story that make it distinctively Indian. The fact of Ghulam Ali’s vocation is also another added dimension to the story because he and Zahira end up making each other whole, in a way”.
Despite these books, films and plays, the journey to Pakistan remains a punchline in popular discourse, especially of the online kind. “Why don’t you go to Pakistan?” is a default right-wing riposte headed your way if you dare criticise any aspect of Indian society or polity. Conversely, a section of liberal commentators also routinely use “Pakistan” as a pejorative (“We are turning into a Hindu Pakistan” et al).
What lies beneath the taunt is no more than a deep-seated, niggling fear. Both Sudhir Kakar and Ashis Nandy have used the writings of Sigmund Freud to show how Pakistan functions as a psychological “double” for India—it is at once our twin and the vessel for our fears and insecurities. In his 1997 essay The Fantastic India-Pakistan Battle, Or the Future of the Past in South Asia, Nandy describes the “civil society” of both nations as impossibly dependent on each other. Their popular mythologies about each other fit together neatly, like the two halves of the yin-and-yang symbol.
Nandy writes: “Pakistan is many things to many people. But the mythic Pakistan I am talking about is, above all, a definer of Indianness. It is a means of self-analysis and self-intervention”.
When we consider the protagonists of these journey-to-Pakistan stories, the “self-analysis and self-intervention” Nandy is talking about comes to the fore. These characters are driven to undertake what is often a frowned-upon journey because their psychological landscapes are incomplete without it. And for them, “why don’t you go to Pakistan” isn’t even a taunt—it is a decision marked by psychological and narrative inevitability. They have to go to Pakistan.
The article titled “SBI eyes $10 billion FCNR(B) deposits” appears on page 18 of the sources and continues on page 15 under the header “SBI expects $10 bn FCNR(B) deposits to support lending.” Written by Anshika Kayastha, the report covers the bank's first-quarter results and its strategy regarding foreign currency deposits.
SBI eyes $10 billion FCNR(B) deposits
By Anshika Kayastha
State Bank of India (SBI) has mobilized about $6 billion in deposits under the Reserve Bank of India’s special foreign currency non-resident (FCNR-B) deposit window and expects to raise about $10 billion (close to ₹1 trillion), chairman C.S. Setty said on Friday.
Speaking after the bank announced its first-quarter results, Setty said SBI did not have a specific mobilization target, but the additional funds would help finance loan growth while reducing reliance on expensive bulk deposits. Calling the liquidity from FCNR(B) deposits a “good, positive development”, Setty pointed out that large banks stand to benefit more from these flows.
“Everyone will try to see that the bulk deposits are priced reasonably, if not completely moving out of bulk deposits. Essentially, as long as these flows are adequate to cover credit growth, SBI will not be aggressively pricing the bulk deposits,” he said.
Setty added that an inflow of around ₹1 trillion does not materially “move the needle” on the bank’s ₹60 trillion deposit base and will help fund incremental loan growth. “I do not think deploying ₹1 lakh crore (trillion) is a problem for SBI where we are looking at 15% credit growth, which means in around a year, we will be growing ₹5-6 lakh crore,” he said.
The RBI has allowed banks to extend leverage against FCNR(B) deposits, enabling overseas depositors to reinvest the proceeds for potentially higher returns. Setty noted that SBI has largely been providing leverage through its own overseas branches, particularly its GIFT City branch, instead of tying up with foreign banks. The lender is also exploring the use of standby letters of credit (SBLCs) to extend such leverage, though the product is not yet widely used.
Asked whether the large FCNR(B) inflows would dilute net interest margins (NIM), Setty said it was too early to assess the impact because lower funding costs could offset any pressure on margins. “We are sticking to our guidance of 3% NIM for the full year and RoA (return on assets) of 1% and RoE (return on equity) of about 15%,” he said. SBI reported a NIM of 2.86% in the June quarter, up five basis points sequentially.
On Friday, India’s largest bank reported a 10.2% year-on-year (y-o-y) rise in net profit to ₹21,121 crore for the April-June quarter and a 14.9% rise in net interest income (NII) to ₹46,992 crore. Following the results, shares of the bank jumped 3.6% to ₹1,124.5 on the NSE, but later pared some gains to close 1.1% higher at ₹1,097.20.
Setty pegged overall deposit growth for the year at 10-11%. In the first quarter, total deposits grew 9.73% y-o-y to ₹60.1 trillion. On the other hand, credit growth for FY27 is seen at 14-15%. Gross advances rose 18.6% y-o-y to ₹50.5 trillion as of 30 June.
On the wide gap between the pace of loan and deposit growth, Setty said the bank's excess liquidity would comfortably provide adequate funding. The bank also has liquidity in the form of excess statutory liquidity ratio (SLR) to the tune of ₹3.1 trillion, which it can tap into to fund its lending. Setty attributed the accelerated credit growth in Q1 to a low base in the corresponding quarter of the previous year.
The article titled “On the hunt for hacker houses” appears on page 2 of the sources as part of the “Bengaluru First” section. Reported by Shalaka Kulkarni, it explores the growing trend of startup builder residencies and shared working spaces among Gen Z entrepreneurs.
On the hunt for hacker houses
By Shalaka Kulkarni
A few months ago, more than 500 women applied for eight beds in a Bengaluru house—they were competing for a place at a fully sponsored, seven-day female-founder residency where participants live, build and ship products under one roof.
Hacker houses are shared working spaces where technologists and entrepreneurs build alongside one another, while start-up residencies are limited-time cohorts that combine accommodation with mentorship, resources, investor access and funding. And they’re in demand among Gen Z entrepreneurs. Shalaka Kulkarni reports on how new entrepreneurs are using startup builder residencies and hacker houses to get their businesses up and running.
The article titled “A slice of Tokyo in San Francisco” appears on page 6 of the sources in the “Bengaluru Taste” section. Written by Shuvajit Payne, it explores the history, culture, and culinary landscape of San Francisco’s Japantown.
A slice of Tokyo in San Francisco
By Shuvajit Payne
While slurping a steaming bowl of miso ramen sitting in the shadow of a pagoda, we could be in a Tokyo alley. Despite the sights, scents and signboards, we are over 8,000km away in another continent.
This is San Francisco’s Japantown, the oldest and largest of only three such quarters remaining in the United States. After Japanese immigration gained momentum in the late 1800s, this enclave became one of the largest outside Japan.
By 1940, it boasted over 200 businesses, including markets, grocers, restaurants and sweet shops. Then came the devastating internment of Japanese-Americans during World War II, and the entire community was forcibly displaced. Only about half returned, taking decades to rebuild their neighbourhood into today’s cultural hot spot.
Japantown’s diverse culinary offerings have long drawn curious Bay Area residents and visitors alike. Lisa Rogovin, founder of Edible Excursions, has led food tours here for over 15 years, and shares, “So deep is Japantown’s connection with food that many popular establishments from Japan open their first overseas outlet here”.
In fact, the ramen bowl before us is from Hinodeya, the first dashi ramen restaurant in the US. This iconic eatery dates back to the Meiji-era (1868–1912), when it began outside Hasuda railway station, north of Tokyo. According to Masao Kuribara, head chef and fourth-generation owner, the flavourful stock of fermented bonito (skipjack tuna) and konbu (seaweed), combined with scallop bouillon and pork oil, brings out the ramen’s bold umami character.
Next door is Soba Dining Sora, another Japanese institution over a century old. Sora’s outpost here opened last year and only uses buckwheat flour imported from Hokkaido and Nagano for its soba. Goma Zaru is the recommended cold soba, served with a side of sesame seeds that diners grind to their desired texture. The hot Kamo Zaru soba, meanwhile, has a hearty Kansai-style broth, topped with seared duck loin and grilled green onions.
A minute away, Japan Centre’s bustling walkways with sloping tiled shopfronts and staircases resembling red soribashi bridges are inspired by the country’s traditional architecture and narrow streets. Japanese bookstore chain Kinokuniya has an entire floor for anime and manga fans; Kohshi stocks artisanal incense, oils, and soaps; and ChaTo offers an enviable collection of seasonal first-flush Japanese teas, alongside beautifully crafted teapots and whisks.
Perhaps the underlying reason behind Japantown’s lasting appeal is its ability to make space for the old and the new. The neighbourhood remains welcoming to Paper Tree, a nearly-60-year-old family-run origami store with paper stacked as far as the eye can see, and also to Best Boy Electric, a chic, all-white coffee shop with a minimalist menu emphasising subtle flavours of its organic matcha drinks.
It also lies in the community’s ability to adapt to changing times. Septuagenarian Philip Ashizawa started working at his family’s Soko Hardware store in high school. Opened in 1925, Soko is Japantown’s oldest running establishment and sells lots more than hammers and nails. Shelves are now stacked with Japanese cookware and tableware, from yanagi ba (specialised knives) to donabe (clay pots for open-flame cooking).
Asked about the store’s success, Ashizawa puts it simply: “No surprises, we sell what our community needs”.
The article titled “Wealth firms offer Shapoorji’s record bond issue to HNIs” begins on page 18 of the sources and continues on page 15. Written by Mansi Verma and Subhana Shaikh, it reports on how the Shapoorji Pallonji (SP) Group’s recent bond issue is being marketed to a new class of private investors.
Wealth firms offer Shapoorji’s record bond issue to HNIs
By Mansi Verma & Subhana Shaikh Mumbai
Shapoorji Pallonji (SP) Group’s record $2.7 billion bond issue is finding a new class of investors. Backed by the group’s stake in Tata Sons, the debt is being offered to high-net-worth individuals (HNIs), ultra-HNIs and family offices through private wealth platforms, according to two people aware of the matter. These investors are thus getting exposure to the value of the holding even as uncertainty persists over when, or if, Tata Sons will go public.
Private wealth managers are parcelling out pieces of the ₹21,350-crore unrated, unlisted debt issue, selling investors a future payoff tied to Tata Sons’ potential initial public offering (IPO). The development follows the Reserve Bank of India (RBI) retaining the Tata Group holding company in its list of upper-layer non-banking financial companies (NBFCs) on Thursday, which did little to clarify its IPO plans. These non-banks are classified by size and risk, with those in the top slot mandated to go public.
Wealth management firms including LGT Wealth India, JM Financial, and Nuvama Wealth Management Ltd are offering minimum ₹10 crore ticket sizes in the debt instrument issued by Equizen Investments Pvt Ltd, a special purpose vehicle owned by the SP Group’s promoters. Queries sent to the SP Group and the involved wealth firms did not elicit a response by press time.
“Anchor investors commit at the primary yield of around 18.95–19.05% on the three-year zero-coupon rupee bonds,” said one source. Because these are privately placed, illiquid instruments, some anchor holders sell down part of their allocation at a lower yield (for example, 18.5%) to pocket a spread. Bond yields move inversely to prices.
However, investors may face significant challenges in the event of a default. Tata Sons’ listing is not guaranteed, and the SP Group’s shares in the company are not transferable. Siddharth Sharma, CEO of Tata Trusts, stated in December 2024 that the Trusts do not endorse using Tata Sons’ shares as collateral, reiterating that these shares are not freely transferable under the company’s Articles of Association.
Last month, the SP Group raised the ₹21,350 crore through zero-coupon, redeemable nonconvertible debentures of Equizen Investment Pvt Ltd. Top investors in the $2.7-billion issue included Deutsche Bank, Sageoak Capital, Cerberus Capital, Burlington Loan Management, and Varde Holdings.
The section titled “NEW ON SHELVES” appears on page 12 of the sources and provides brief overviews of four recently released books.
NEW ON SHELVES
1. The Web Beneath the Waves and Other Reports from Our Tangled World Samanth Subramanian’s new collection brings together his published essays and reportage from around the world. From a deep dive into undersea cables to documenting the fight between hand-dryer and paper towel companies, the subjects in this volume are eclectic and distinguished by his wit and detail. By Samanth Subramanian, Westland, 328 pages, ₹799.
2. Mammals of India Did you know India is home to over 450 mammal species? And do you have any idea how many of them are endangered? A new illustrated reference book, written by wildlife biologists A.J.T. Johnsingh and P.O. Nameer, brings together known and unknown facts about the diverse mammalian population that lives in the country. By A.J.T. Johnsingh and P.O. Nameer, HarperCollins India, 872 pages, ₹3,999.
3. Rebel Bastar: History, Maoism and the Search for Answers in India’s Heartland Shantanu Nandan Sharma revisits the root cause behind the persistence of Maoism in Bastar in Chhattisgarh. Based on extensive reporting, archival research and historical investigations, he paints a complex picture of a region that has been shaped as much by its colonial past as by contemporary politics. By Shantanu Nandan Sharma, Hachette India, 320 pages, ₹799.
4. Redtooth When a group of trekkers set out for Goecha La in the Sikkim Himalayas, fortified by little more than their derring-do, they have no idea of the dangers that await them. Not just from inclement weather and the landscape but also from the denizens of unearthly dimensions. Satyajit Sarna’s new novel tells a horror story that unfolds in a remote and precarious region. By Satyajit Sarna, Simon and Schuster India, 288 pages, ₹399.
The article titled “FMCG’s hunt for talent sees surge in top executive pay” appears on page 15 of the sources. Written by Neethi Lisa Rojan, it details the compensation trends for leadership in India’s fast-moving consumer goods (FMCG) sector during FY26.
FMCG’s hunt for talent sees surge in top executive pay
Hindustan Unilever, Britannia and Nestlé all appointed new chief executives during the year By Neethi Lisa Rojan Mumbai
India’s largest consumer goods companies raised pay for most chief executives and offered hefty packages to new leadership hires in FY26 despite sluggish demand and weak volume growth, although some chief executive officers (CEOs) whose businesses faced operational challenges took pay cuts.
Data from FY26 annual reports shows that while most FMCG companies increased CEO remuneration, the year’s biggest leadership changes also came with big pay packages. Hindustan Unilever, Britannia and Nestlé India all appointed new chief executives during the year, while CEOs at Godrej Consumer and ITC took pay cuts.
Marico’s CEO Saugata Gupta earned the highest total pay at ₹47.24 crore, 20.7% higher than the previous year and 327.16 times the salary of the company’s average employee. Sunil D’Souza of Tata Consumer Products received the biggest hike among FMCG CEOs in the year, a 21.8% increase in remuneration during FY26 to ₹15.84 crore. All these packages include salaries, perquisites, bonuses, and other pay components.
Tata Consumer and Marico integrated major acquisitions in FY26. Tata Consumer’s two acquisitions—Capital Foods and Organic India—delivered growth of 40% and 27%, respectively in Q1FY27, after growing 5% and 28% in FY26. Marico acquired digital-first, high-growth brands including nutraceuticals brand Plix, personal care brand Just Herbs, and protein and supplements brand Cosmix; under Gupta, the company’s digital-first brands hit an annualised revenue run rate of over ₹1,100 crore.
New CEOs were also appointed at substantial hikes. Nestlé India brought in Manish Tiwary, former India country manager for e-commerce giant Amazon, at a salary of ₹26 crore for FY26, while his predecessor Suresh Narayanan was paid ₹23.4 crore in FY25. Hindustan Unilever appointed Priya Nair as chief executive in August 2025, replacing Rohit Jawa, who had completed just two years of his five-year appointment period.
Nair’s remuneration for the period was ₹18.19 crore while Jawa’s compensation for FY26 was ₹14.44 crore. Britannia appointed Rakshit Hargave as CEO in December after a prolonged search, ending an interim arrangement under vice-chairman and managing director Varun Berry. His total pay was ₹8.52 crore during the year, compared to ₹1.64 crore for Berry in FY26. However, Nair, Tiwary and Hargave’s compensation is not comparable to that of their predecessors because they served in the top job for only a few months in the financial year.
“All these organisations are looking at that rare breed of talent, which is few and far between,” said Kaushik DasGupta, managing partner for India at global executive search and leadership advisory firm Odgers. “And hence at the CEO level, they’re ready to pay that premium. The additional compensation that companies pay for a new leadership talent is relatively a small figure compared to the revenue of the companies”.
Data shows the HUL chief executive’s compensation as a ratio of the company’s median employee salary is higher than her predecessor’s. Per HUL’s annual report, in FY26, the CEO drew a salary more than 162 times that of the median employee, up from 146x in FY25. Britannia did not publish this multiple for FY26.
Industry experts say FMCG companies are opening up their wallets to secure talent that can navigate continued macroeconomic uncertainty and deliver results. Consumption trends and volume growth improved in the second half of FY26 after GST rates were cut in September on packaged essentials.
LEADERSHIP SHAKEUP
- Marico’s CEO earned the highest total pay at ₹47.24 cr, 20.7% higher than the previous year.
- Sunil D’Souza of Tata Consumer Products got the biggest hike among FMCG CEOs in FY26.
- Nestlé brought in Manish Tiwary, ex-India manager for Amazon, at a salary of ₹26 cr for FY26.
- Hindustan Unilever appointed Priya Nair as CEO in August 2025, replacing Rohit Jawa.
The article titled “Time is brutal to political pretensions” is written by historian Manu S. Pillai and appears on page 5 of the sources as part of his “PAST PARTICIPLE” column. It explores how historical monuments and politically charged architecture are inevitably repurposed, neglected, or trivialized by the passage of time.
Time is brutal to political pretensions
By Manu S. Pillai
In the early 19th century, the British resident posted in Hyderabad thought it a smart idea to construct a grand home for himself. Funded by the local princely government (his own bosses sanctioned only a modest budget), the residency was practically a palace. It had massive gardens, a stunning staircase, and a huge hall for which the man ordered a 60-foot-long carpet. The chandelier was imported from Britain, coming from the collection of the future George IV. To some degree, the resident was projecting his tastes here, but the building also represented, as Pushpa Sundar writes, a “politically conscious use of architecture”. That is, in addition to looking splendid, this was a visual testament to British authority. Which perhaps explains why once the Raj ended, the structure was put to a dramatically different use.
The Hyderabad residency—once an emblem of colonial virility in India—is today the property of a women’s college, overrun with girls studying physics and biochemistry.
Time is brutal to political pretensions and its markers. Throughout history, those in power have commissioned monuments to their eternal glory, only for the ages to squelch both the air of greatness and any claims to permanence. For instance, Ahmednagar in Maharashtra was the seat of a sultanate once. Its rulers attracted global talent and left behind a city with magnificent buildings. A handful of these are protected, but most have been subjected to hideous misuse—if they haven’t already been destroyed that is. One 16th century structure is today the civil jail, another a pen for criminals. The Lakkad Mahal is used as a warehouse, while a Persian-style tower called the badgir (wind-catcher)—which provided a type of air-conditioning—is primarily a garbage dump. Yet another building had the district court squatting in it for years. Why, even the name of the place changed—“Ahmednagar” commemorated the (Muslim) sultan who founded the city in 1494. Today the town bears the (Hindu) name Ahilyanagar.
While some of this represents the inevitable workings of time, the egregious repurposing of old buildings was also done consciously in places to make a statement. For example, the Mughal emperor Aurangzeb constructed a mosque in Lahore in the 1670s. The Badshahi Masjid was for centuries the largest such in the world. But just over 100 years later, when the city fell to the Sikh ruler Ranjit Singh, the complex was turned into a military barracks. Soldiers bunked in the erstwhile study chambers, while the masjid itself was turned into a weapons store.
Another structure named after Jahangir’s royal mother was, similarly, converted into a “gun and powder manufactory”. A third mosque inside the fort received slightly more respectable treatment—renamed Moti Mandir from Moti Masjid, it was used as Ranjit Singh’s treasury. Ironically, it was the Brits who restored the sites to their original purposes, not least to win local favour and persuade the community that they were better, more proper rulers than the Sikhs they toppled.
That said, building monumental, politically coded buildings also comes with complications. In her book, Housing the Republic, on the recently retired Parliament House in Delhi, Sobhana K. Nair offers a case in point. The British called it “Council House” to avoid even vaguely equating the structure to a truly self-governing, democratic chamber; there was only one parliament, in London, and the watered-down Delhi entity was to exist in an inferior category, befitting India’s subject status.
Some details which later became iconic invited ridicule even—for instance, the outer verandah with its 144 sandstone pillars would make it to official logos and stamps, and serve as a popular hangout space for our politicians. At the time it was built, however, the circular design was lampooned: the building was sneeringly compared to a bull ring and gas tank (no pun intended). One critic joked that whenever proceedings inside got boring, maybe legislators could run races around the verandah. Why, even the architects fell out bitterly by the end of the project. Of course, “Council House” did end up as India’s Parliament after the British left.
So too were other buildings “nationalised” in a manner of speaking. In the 1860s a governor of Bombay launched the construction of a monsoon seat for himself in Pune. “Confusingly Italianate in style,” a writer would observe, it was apparently modelled on one of Queen Victoria and her husband’s homes in the UK. In 1949, the place was handed over to what was then Poona University.
In the years that followed, the governor’s stately ballroom became the Sant Dnyaneshwar Hall (fittingly, a portrait of the 13th century saint hangs within), while the banqueting chamber serves now as a sarkari conference venue. There are coats of arms belonging to British officials and decorative gargoyles typical of colonial buildings. But there is also a statue of Savitribai Phule, the anti-caste crusader whose name the university today bears.
But no discussion on historical buildings and their eventual fate can be complete without speaking of plain encroachment and vandalism. Leaving aside land around heritage sites being appropriated by private parties—who then populate it with spectacularly ugly buildings—there are also monuments that have themselves been seized. On the way to Golconda Fort in 2016, for instance, this columnist saw little tombs of minor figures. Some of these had been annexed to concrete houses, with furniture laid out around the graves.
In Bidar, with its own fort and tombs, as many as 47 families were living around and inside the structures. Some of these people claim to be descendants of assorted royals, but it hardly excuses setting up kitchens and toilets in mausoleums. All this is leaving aside another special feature of India’s historical buildings. Famous persons built these with an exaggerated sense of dignity. Yet today the same memorials are sites for aspiring lovers to meet and engage in naughty activities.
Viewed one way, no builder of monuments ultimately owns the resultant building. The men and women who erected India’s many iconic structures were attempting to speak to posterity. Posterity, however, turned these material signatures into everything from shady trysting spots and dumping grounds to museums and prisons. Heroes of history thought they were building for the ages. Except the ages are usually just looking for places to carve “Bunty loves Saudamini”.
The article titled “CMS bets on tech and payment solutions” appears on page 18 of the sources. Written by Anshika Kayastha, it details the growth strategy of CMS Info Systems as it expands into technology and payments infrastructure.
CMS bets on tech and payment solutions
CMS Info Systems expects its tech and payments solutions arms to grow at a 20% CAGR over the next 4–5 years By Anshika Kayastha Mumbai
Having established a strong foothold in logistics and cash management, CMS Info Systems is placing its next big growth bet on technology and payments infrastructure solutions, said executive vice chairman and chief executive Rajiv Kaul.
The vertical has posted a 25-30% compound annual growth rate (CAGR) over the past five years and grew 15% in FY26. “It can grow at a 20% CAGR over the next 4–5 years. We hope it will account for more than 20% of our revenue by FY30, which would double its current contribution of around ₹370 crore,” Kaul told Mint, adding that the company plans to keep adding new businesses under this segment.
Revenue from the technology and payment solutions business was around ₹370 crore in FY26, or about 16% of total revenue, compared with 7% in FY22. The company’s total revenue was ₹2,487 crore in FY26.
Initially started with remote monitoring solutions for banks and non-bank and gold loan companies, CMS is now growing this business beyond banking, financial services and insurance (BFSI). “We started making multiple AI modules based on problems that organisations face in their stores, warehouses or physical infrastructure. Every sector has a unique problem,” Kaul said, adding that the company has built over 40 AI modules across more than 15 industries.
CMS now offers technology and payment services to quick-service restaurants (QSR), quick commerce companies, and EV charging infrastructure providers. The company offers AI surveillance and remote monitoring for retail outlets, warehouses, and ATMs. It also delivers inventory and workforce management tools, helping clients reconcile warehouse stock with sales receipts in real time, prevent cash theft, cut operational costs, and increase productivity at stores.
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