In the debut episode of Exploring India with Suhani Mardia, Insight Media takes you on a vibrant and eye-opening journey into the lush landscapes and rich cultural tapestry of Assam — a state nestled in the lap of Northeast India. Known for its biodiversity, unique traditions, and historical significance, Assam is also home to a treasure trove of Geographical Indication (GI) tagged products and indigenous crafts that rarely get the spotlight they deserve.

This episode begins with a deep dive into Assam’s culinary and agricultural heritage. From the nutty and soft texture of Boka Chaul (soft rice) to the tangy punch of Kaji Nemu (Assamese lemon), the region’s palette is as diverse as its people. We also explore Judima Wine, a traditional rice wine from the Dimasa tribe, Joha Rice, known for its fragrant aroma, and even Black Rice of neighboring Manipur, a powerhouse of nutrition. These GI-tagged items are not just ingredients; they are cultural symbols, reflecting centuries of farming innovation and culinary evolution.

To better understand these marvels, Suhani sits down with professors from Assam Skill University, who shed light on the science, sustainability, and socio-economic importance of these products. Their insights help bridge the gap between traditional knowledge and modern agricultural practices, underscoring why these regional specialties deserve global recognition.

From taste to texture to technique — the journey then takes us to Sarthebari, a village renowned for its ancient Bell Metal Craft. Here, we enter the workshop of Mr. Haridas Das, a recipient of the prestigious Assam Gaurav Award, who opens up about the struggles and survival of this age-old art. Watching the molten metal take shape into traditional utensils and decor is nothing short of mesmerizing — a living heritage in action.

The adventure continues as Suhani and the crew travel through the breathtaking Kaziranga wilderness, home to the famous one-horned rhinoceros, soaking in the tranquil beauty of Assam’s vast grasslands, wetlands, and dense forests.

In Jorhat, the scientific and economic heartbeat of the region, the team visits CSIR-NEIST (North East Institute of Science and Technology). Led by Dr. Virendra Tiwari, the institute is playing a key role in the Floriculture and Aroma Missions, both initiated under the leadership of Prime Minister Narendra Modi. These missions are not just about flowers and fragrances — they are about economic empowerment, self-reliance, and positioning Assam on the global map of scientific agriculture and innovation.

This episode is more than just a travelogue — it’s a celebration of Assam’s hidden potential, the synergy of tradition and technology, and the government’s focused push through CSIR and the Ministry of DoNER to uplift Northeast India.

As India reels from the aftershocks of the Waqf Act-triggered violence in West Bengal’s Murshidabad district, Part 2 of our ground investigation uncovers a darker, more deliberate phase of the communal unrest.

What began as angry protests against the Waqf (Amendment) Act soon turned into coordinated anti-Hindu violence, with disturbing new tactics: poisoned drinking water, homes torched with women and children inside, and crude bombs hurled by frenzied mobs. Survivors, intelligence inputs, and independent observers now point toward pre-planned ethnic targeting — not spontaneous rage.

The Murder That Sparked a Storm

The spiral into terror was cemented by a gruesome killing — the brutal murder of 55-year-old Harigobindo Das and his son Chandan Das, both respected Hindu businessmen in the Beldanga area.

Eyewitnesses allege that a mob, inflamed by radical slogans, dragged the duo out during a “peaceful protest” and hacked them to death. According to reports, the prime accused is linked to Islamist groups operating under the guise of anti-Waqf law protests.
India Today has cited intelligence officials connecting this network to Bangladesh-based Islamist outfits, raising alarms about the porous border and radicalisation in Bengal’s border districts.

Bombs in Broad Daylight

As tension spread, crude bombs were hurled at police vehicles and Hindu homes. One victim told us about bombs being spotted often nowadays, which are often used in Bengal’s political violence. One police constable, on condition of anonymity, said:

“There were 3 bombs in the field. They found it today”

The Name That Keeps Coming Up: Mehboob Alam

Once again, the name of TMC councillor Mehboob Alam has surfaced. Locals allege that Alam was not only complicit but actively instigated the second wave of violence.

“On Saturday, the attack unfolded from the councillor’s place – Mehboob Alam, TMC Councillor”

Radicalisation and Illegal Migrants: The Unspoken Threat

Reports from Organiser and News18 now confirm that illegal Bangladeshi migrants played a major role in swelling the mobs. Murshidabad, which has a long-standing infiltration issue, has become a hotbed of radicalisation and parallel power structures that challenge Indian sovereignty.

Weapons caches were also recovered from abandoned madrasa premises — hinting at premeditated violence, not spontaneous outrage.

Women Targeted: NCW Raises Alarm

The National Commission for Women has issued a scathing report on the violence, stating that Hindu women were deliberately attacked and intimidated. Many faced threats of rape and molestation, with several families alleging that local police refused to even register complaints.

Central Forces Deployed, But For How Long?

In response to public outcry and a High Court directive, 17 companies of Central Armed Police Forces have been deployed. While this has stabilised the situation temporarily, local residents fear the violence will return once the spotlight fades.

Conclusion: The Bengal Borderline Has Been Breached

Murshidabad is not just a district in Bengal anymore — it’s a communal time bomb, one ticking at the intersection of vote-bank politics, demographic manipulation, Islamist radicalisation, and state complicity.

The Waqf Act may have sparked the fire, but what followed was an organised attempt to erase dissenting communities, rewrite territorial control, and instill fear through methods unseen in recent Indian memory.

“Watch our exclusive video report on the second phase of Murshidabad violence — including survivor interviews, site footage, and a breakdown of how the state looked away when people were marked for death.”

In the blistering summer of 1980s Punjab, where each sunrise threatened another ambush and every grain of soil seemed soaked in unrest, a silent battle unfolded—not with rifles, but with resolve. A battle not of soldiers alone, but of engineers, villagers, and bureaucrats who dared to challenge both nature and the enemy. This is the story of the Punjab Border Fencing Project—India’s unsung feat of steel and spirit that turned a fragile line into an unshakable wall. Watch it here.

The Blood-Stained Line

India stood on the brink of freedom, and yet, the birth of a new nation was marred by the violence of partition. A man named Cyril Radcliffe, unfamiliar with India’s land and soul, drew a line that would later bleed for decades. That line, now called the Punjab border, would soon become the epicenter of militant infiltration and ideological war.

Post-Independence, Pakistan’s strategic defeat in conventional wars gave rise to a new, more insidious approach—supporting militancy and separatist movements across the border. Smuggled weapons, narcotics, and ideological propaganda flowed freely through the porous frontier, transforming Punjab into a battleground cloaked in smoke and sorrow.

By the early 1980s, the golden fields of Punjab had turned red. Bus massacres, temple takeovers, and the infamous Operation Blue Star left scars not only on the state but on the nation’s conscience.

The Suicide Mission No One Wanted

Against this backdrop of terror and tension, the Central Public Works Department (CPWD) was tasked with an almost suicidal mission—fortify the Indo-Pak border.

There were no satellites, no drones, no high-tech surveying equipment. What they had was sheer grit. Working from a make-shift office that lacked even chairs and desks, engineers under the leadership of BB Makkar carried forward an operation that had no blueprint, no precedent, and absolutely no room for error.

They didn’t just build fences; they built hope.

A Wall of Sacrifice

Villagers donated their lands willingly, fully aware they were living in the crosshairs of militants. CPWD officials worked around the clock—often staying in bomb-proof bunkers, subsisting on bare minimums. Every action had to be discreet; even casual conversations with drivers could risk lives if overheard by the wrong ears.

But what perhaps speaks volumes of the project’s success is its frugality. This grand national shield was built at a cost of merely 1,700 Rupees per meter—a marvel in both execution and economy.

Yet, tragedy was never far. In 1988, devastating floods destroyed the first phase of fencing. Critics pounced. Accusations of corruption and mismanagement flooded the headlines. But those who had bled in the sun to raise that fence stood undeterred. CPWD treated the setback not as a defeat, but as a challenge—to build again, this time stronger.

A Promise Kept in Silence

The mission never received headlines. There was no parade for the engineers, no medals for the villagers, no historic speeches in their honor. Yet the fence stood, unwavering. It became more than metal and barbed wire; it became a promise—that India’s borders may be threatened, but they will never be breached.

The fencing slowed infiltration. It throttled arms smuggling. And most importantly, it forced the enemy to rethink its strategy.

In the heart of this narrative stood leaders who rose above politics—like Atal Bihari Vajpayee—who, beyond all party lines, supported what was right for the country. His behind-the-scenes guidance was a crucial pillar in ensuring the project did not collapse under bureaucratic weight or political backlash.

The Unacknowledged Patriots

Today, we speak of a secure Punjab. Of a border that stands strong. Of a nation that sleeps safer. But we seldom remember the ones who built that strength, inch by inch, under the shadow of sniper rifles and insurgent threats.

This fence was not just steel—it was sweat, soul, and sacrifice.

It is time we remember the unnamed engineers, the tireless laborers, the fearless villagers, and the visionary leaders who made it happen. Their story isn’t just history—it’s a reminder. That sometimes, the greatest battles are fought not with weapons, but with willpower.

And perhaps, as we walk along the secure borderlines of our nation today, we owe them not just a salute—but our eternal gratitude.