The Butcher of Bosnia and the Illusion of Threat

I came across a news report about thousands of people attending the funeral of the man referred to as the “Butcher of Bosnia.” His name is Ratko Mladić. The report said that he was convicted of genocide for his role in the killing of more than 8000 mostly Muslim Bosniak men and boys in Srebrenica, Bosnia and Herzegovina. He died in prison at the age of 84 in August this year.

I was totally taken aback by this information and I had to look into why such a controversial figure is being considered a hero by many. I found that his supporters remember him as a military commander who defended their community against what they saw as “perceived threats” from Bosniak Muslims during the Bosnian War, which began in 1992.

I can’t help but notice a pattern here: violence is often justified nowadays by this very “perceived threat” – the belief that another community poses a threat to our existence, religion, culture, or way of life. Maybe this pattern has always been there, or maybe social media has simply made these attitudes much more visible.

Let’s take a look at some examples.

Israel’s ongoing conflict with Palestinians is framed by supporters of Israel around threats to its existence, while Palestinians and their supporters describe the consequences in terms of occupation, displacement, and violence against civilians.

Hitler is also being glorified on TikTok today, with his actions being presented through the deeply disturbing logic that he “helped eradicate” a community, Jews, whom they view as a threat to the world.

Afzal Guru and Ajmal Kasab are considered heroes by many because their actions are framed as acts of resistance against perceived threats or justified through a particular political narrative.

Savarkar is hated by many, even more strongly than some historical figures associated with mass violence, but he is also considered a hero by many who believe Hinduism and Hindu identity have been under threat.

I remember feeling absolute dread (a feeling of threat) when thousands attended Yakub Memon’s funeral in Mumbai.

And that is what makes this whole subject so uncomfortable.

Mourning, glorifying, or defending people who have done questionable things simply because they supposedly acted against “perceived threats to our existence” is becoming mainstream.

Closer to home, Hindus have attacked minorities in India because they believe their religion or cultural identity is under threat.

Christians in places like Tamil Nadu have also staged protests when public spaces in their area are used for festivals associated with other religions, with some viewing this as a threat to their own religious identity or traditions.

Then there are Kashmiri Pandits, who are being portrayed as a threat to the “culture” or “religion” of the land even when they are simply celebrating their festivals in a place with which they have a deep historical connection.

The circumstances are obviously different. But the underlying psychology is worth examining.

Once we convince ourselves that another community is an existential threat, almost anything can start being rationalised in the name of protecting our own.

And that leaves me wondering: who is going to do what next in the name of a “perceived threat”?

No community is completely free from this tendency, and no community can automatically claim moral superiority. Across religions, nationalities, ethnic groups, and political movements, people have at different points convinced themselves that their identity, culture, religion, or very existence is under threat.

Once “they are a threat” starts gaining ground, the question is no longer simply who is right or wrong. The question becomes how far people are willing to go to bring down or harm the people they have decided are the threat.

When Did Millennials Get So Serious?

So I’m in my 40s now, and one thing I’ve noticed lately is just how serious many of my peers have become.

Of course, the reason is obvious – life happened. Careers happened. Marriage, kids, ageing parents, bills, responsibilities… they all have a way of changing you. It’s not like our 20s when many of us had fewer worries and life felt a lot more carefree. Growing up changes everyone.

But even then, the transformation is fascinating.

I’ve seen people who once had the most ridiculous sense of humour become almost unrecognisable. The ones who could turn any conversation into a comedy show are now quiet, serious, and sometimes even a little weighed down by life. It’s sad to see, but I understand it. That’s what life does.

That seriousness has shifted online too. Most of the funny content is by Gen Z.

I’m guilty of it myself. Somewhere along the way, I also started posting only about serious issues rather than silly ones. I look at my old posts on Facebook and don’t recognise myself either.

Surely life isn’t meant to be taken this seriously all the time?

Take the Reposts tab on Instagram, for example.

When I open someone’s reposts, I’m hoping to learn something about them. What kind of humour they enjoy. The movies they love. The random memes that made them laugh. Maybe a dog video that melted their heart. Something that tells me who they are.

Instead, I often find an endless stream of political posts.

By the time I leave their profile, I know exactly which political party they dislike, but nothing else about them.

It’s strange. Politics has become such a huge part of social media that it’s slowly replaced personality. Our online identities now revolve around what we’re against instead of what we enjoy.

I’m trying to disconnect from all of it, but it feels like a lost cause. In India, there’s almost no escaping politics. Even when you’re sitting in a hospital waiting room in Kerala, there’s usually a news channel playing on the TV. It’s as if we’re not allowed to switch off from the constant political noise, even when we’re unwell.

And when did millennials become this serious?

We were genuinely funny. I would even argue we were funnier than Gen Z.

Every now and then, I go back and read old Facebook posts and comments, and it’s like opening a time capsule. People teased each other endlessly. There was harmless banter, ridiculous inside jokes, and conversations that wandered off in every direction.

Nobody was trying to go viral. Nobody cared about engagement or reach. We were just… hanging out online.

Of course, social media algorithms haven’t helped.

Today, a post from your friend with 4 likes gets buried, while a random stranger whom you’re not following ends up at the top of your feed.

Half the time, when I open Facebook, I’m looking at people I’ve never met. If I actually want to see what my friends are posting, I have to switch to the Friends feed. Extra steps, too cumbersome, leading to less engagement.

I really hope someone builds a social media platform that brings back what made the early internet so much fun. A place where the goal isn’t chasing likes, growing followers, or gaming the algorithm.

Just a place where friends share everyday moments. Random thoughts. Terrible jokes. Blurry photos. Half-baked opinions. Embarrassing stories.

You know… life.

I would join that platform in a heartbeat.

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Photo by MART PRODUCTION

When People Forget You

Memory is such a weird thing. Some people remember the tiniest details about me from years ago, while others can’t recall spending time with me ever. They have forgotten entire moments. A day out, the day we talked, the laughs we shared.

I mean, how is that even possible? How can people erase entire days?

It also leaves you with a strange sense of self-doubt. Did you not make enough of an impression to be remembered?

A school friend, whom I reconnected with years later, couldn’t remember that we had spoken over the phone before. He was under the impression we had never talked. Another friend couldn’t recollect attending a wedding with me, which was actually the place where we first met. Even today, he acts as though we’ve never met. A few days ago, another friend, this time a woman, said she doesn’t remember going to a movie with me. It wasn’t just a quick outing. The entire day revolved around that one activity, so it was mind-boggling to realize that the memory had completely disappeared from her mind.

And then there are people like my niece, who can remember things from years ago with surprising clarity. Every time she brings up something I had completely forgotten, I’m both amazed and happy.

I guess this just proves that human memory is a fickle thing. It isn’t the perfect record of our lives that we often assume it is. So how can we depend on memory alone to define our current relationships or friendships and the moments that mattered?

Maybe someone, somewhere, did something incredibly kind for you, but you’ve completely forgotten it. Over time, you start believing they were never there for you because the memory no longer exists. You convince yourself there were no meaningful moments together, when in reality, they simply faded away.

Sometimes, forgotten memories say more about how the mind works than they do about the people involved.

It’s kind of scary, isn’t it? How hard do we have to try to hold on to the good memories? To make sure time doesn’t play the villain and quietly erases them for good.

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Photo by Baro

When Missing Someone Hits Out of Nowhere

One of the most romantic delusions I have ever come across is the idea that when you suddenly feel overwhelmed with emotions because you miss someone, it’s because they are missing you too. Some people even extend this belief to loved ones who have passed away, saying their energy is reaching out because they miss you.

It goes against every scientific explanation I know, yet there is something comforting about believing it. Sometimes, when a wave of grief or longing hits without warning, you are not looking for logic. You are simply looking for a reason that helps your heart make sense of what it is feeling.

Over the past few years, there have been many moments when I have found myself unexpectedly emotional while thinking about my father. It often happens out of nowhere. Sometimes it’s triggered by a quote about a father’s love. Sometimes it’s just a random thought that appears during an ordinary day. The strange thing is that it isn’t consistent. There are days when I can think about him and smile. Then there are days when the emotions become too much, and tears arrive before I can stop them.

In those moments, I find myself wondering: is this his way of letting me know that he misses me too?

I like to believe it is.

I treat dreams about him the same way. Whenever he appears in a dream, I see it as a small sign, a quiet reminder that the bond we shared still exists somewhere beyond memory.

It sometimes happens while thinking about friends who are no longer part of your life as well.

Maybe these are just coping mechanisms. Maybe they are the natural ways our minds process grief and emotional loss. Maybe hormones, memories, and nostalgia are working together to create meaning where none exists. But if a belief brings comfort without harming anyone, why rush to take it apart?

When you are grieving or missing someone you love, facts are not always enough. Science may explain what is happening in your mind, but comfort speaks to the heart. And sometimes, comfort is all you need.

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Photo by Andrew Neel

If You Were Locked in a Room with 10 Men for 10 Days

I came across this post on Reddit recently. It immediately made me think about my own experiences.

At the end of the day, it really comes down to energy, doesn’t it?

When I was in the North East, and it started snowing heavily, I stepped into a small shed with a heater. The shed was full of North Eastern men, including my guide. I was the only woman there at that moment.

And yet, I did not feel unsafe even for a second.

That moment stayed with me because it showed me something important about how we perceive safety while traveling or being around strangers.

Now imagine a similar situation somewhere else in India. There are some men I know personally, even a few colleagues, with whom I would feel uncomfortable being stuck in a small space. Not because they have ever done anything that could be complained about. Nothing like that. But the energy they give off simply does not make me feel comfortable.

Safety often has less to do with whether we know someone and more to do with the vibes they give off and whether we are comfortable with those vibes.

Many women will relate to this. We tend to have strong instincts when it comes to unsafe environments. Research often suggests that these instincts developed over time as part of human evolution. Women had to learn to read subtle cues in order to stay safe.

That is why sometimes we feel calm around complete strangers, while at other times we feel uneasy around people we already know.

If women were allowed to choose the people they would spend those 10 days locked up with, most of us would probably make the right call about who we feel safe around.

The real problem arises when that choice is taken away from us, and the men we are to be locked up with, whether known or unknown, are chosen by someone else. When that happens, the chances of discomfort or even unsafe situations naturally increase.

For me, that snowy day in the North East was a reminder that safety is not always about familiarity. Sometimes it is simply about the energy people carry, and the signals our instincts quietly pick up.

Ithiri Neram: When Old Love Returns Years Later

Ithiri Neram Movie Poster with Roshan Mathew and Zarin Shihab

I picked the Malayalam movie Ithiri Neram randomly last weekend. I usually choose movies based purely on my mood. Because of that, I often ignore films or dramas that are trending or getting a lot of attention. Sometimes I simply may not be in the mood for that genre.

Ithiri Neram had been sitting in my watchlist for quite some time. After my North East trip, I suddenly felt like watching something slow-paced and centered on human interactions. I wanted a quiet Malayalam film that focuses more on emotions than plot twists. Ithiri Neram seemed perfect for that kind of weekend watch.

The story deals with a slightly controversial theme. It follows a married man who reconnects with his college flame. In a way, it reminded me of the Tamil movie 96, but almost in reverse.

Because the story revolves around a married man who still carries unresolved feelings for his ex, the film creates an unusual emotional conflict for the viewer. You enjoy the crackling chemistry (a type of chemistry that conveys a lot through eye contact) between the lead pair, yet at the same time you feel a sense of guilt. You cannot help but think about the wife, who has no idea what her husband really feels about their marriage. According to him, that “special feeling” is missing in the marriage. This aspect of the story also became a point of debate among viewers. Some felt that the movie glorified an extramarital emotional connection. But I don’t think movies always need to function as a vehicle for social messaging. Cinema is also a space to tell stories about human emotions, even the uncomfortable ones.

And the truth is, the idea that someone may still carry feelings for an old love is not unrealistic. It may not be something people openly admit, especially after marriage. But it is a very human experience that exists quietly in many lives.

The chemistry between the two leads is undeniable. Their conversations and silences pull you in emotionally. At times it feels like the film quietly pushes the audience into rooting for something that is not right.

Once you reach your 40s, you also start realizing something uncomfortable. Chemistry is rare. You may settle down with someone you deeply respect and care for. The relationship can be stable and supportive. Yet, like Anish in the film, you might sometimes feel that something extra is missing. That “extra” could be a kind of chemistry you once experienced in the past and have been searching for ever since.

Over time, many people choose stability over chemistry. And in many ways, that decision makes sense. Life cannot run on chemistry alone. Intense chemistry can also bring strong emotions that are hard to manage, and that intensity can sometimes destabilize relationships.

Roshan Mathew and Zarin Shihab deliver beautiful and natural performances. Their screen presence carries the emotional weight of the story very well. The comedy relief also works nicely and matches my kind of humor. I genuinely enjoyed those lighter moments.

The supporting cast adds good balance to the film. Performances by Nandu and Anand Manmadhan help keep the story light so that the emotional tension never becomes overwhelming.

If you enjoy slow movies that focus on relationships, nostalgia, and complicated emotions, Ithiri Neram might be worth adding to your watchlist.

Ithiri Neram is currently streaming on Prime Video.