By Braj Khandelwal
2025.07.22 (Vrindavan Today News): Oh, Vrindavan! The sacred playground where Krishna once frolicked, the Yamuna sparkled like tears of a goddess, and spirituality wasn’t just a bumper sticker for clout-chasing influencers. But behold, our Sanskari sahab has descended like a divine wrecking ball, ready to transform this hallowed town into a tacky, concrete carnival for Instagram pilgrims and wallet-worshipping developers. Buckle up, devotees—this isn’t bhakti, it’s a hostile takeover!
Remember when the Yamuna was a goddess? Yeah, neither does government crew. Under their enlightened rule, she’s been promoted to Sewer Supreme, a frothy cocktail of industrial sludge, plastic bags, and broken dreams. The river’s now so black it could audition for a villain role in a Bollywood eco-horror flick. Divine purity? Pfft, that’s for suckers who don’t appreciate the modern aesthetic of ‘eau de chemical waste.’
And those lush floodplains? Once nature’s love letter to Vrindavan, they’ve been pawned off to illegal colonizers and five-star ashrams faster than you can say “VIP darshan.” Nothing screams “spiritual awakening” like luxury resorts where self-proclaimed babas peddle enlightenment for the low, low price of your life savings. Om Shanti, please sign the waiver.
Why preserve ancient temples when you can erect glorious corridors that nobody asked for and nobody can afford? The Vrindavan Corridor—brought to you by the unholy trinity of shady contractors, greased palms, and zero accountability—is here to “restore” the town by steamrolling its soul. Centuries-old heritage? Yawn, so passé. Sahab’s mantra is: If it’s sacred, smash it. If it’s historic, slap a toll booth on it.
Local priests are screaming, devotees are weeping, and even BJP’s own Dream Girl, now starring in The Nightmare of Vrindavan—is waving a red flag, or is it green?. But why bother with pesky stakeholders when you’ve got builders whispering sweet vikas in your ear? The only thing being restored here is the government’s knack for turning devotion into a demolition derby.
The holy dust of Braj (brij ruj), once kissed by devotees, now chokes on plastic wrappers, sewage, and the gritty ambition of construction tycoons. The cows—those sacred icons of Vrindavan’s pastoral charm—now dodge traffic cones and trip over tiles like they’re auditioning for a tragic bovine reboot of Slumdog Millionaire. The government’s fix? More parking lots, fewer pastures! Because nothing says “cow protection” like forcing Gau Mata to graze on asphalt. Moo-ve over, spirituality—progress is here!
Forget bhakti—welcome to Bhakti: The Deluxe Edition! Want to glimpse the divine? Fork over a premium ticket. Want to dip in the Yamuna? Enjoy your complimentary toxic waste immersion, sponsored by the fine folks at Unregulated Industry Inc. Craving peace? Head to the Vrindavan VIP Lounge, where saffron-robed CEOs will upsell you moksh on an attractive plan—interest rates may apply, salvation not guaranteed.
The holy sarkar isn’t reviving Vrindavan—it’s embalming it. The real Kaliya isn’t some mythical serpent; it’s the slithering duo of greed and incompetence, coiling tighter around this sacred town with every bulldozer’s roar. Krishna’s flute doesn’t just weep—it’s screaming for a restraining order.
So, let’s ask the million-rupee question: Is this “development” or a sanctified scam dressed in saintly robes? Either way, Vrindavan’s holiness is being sold off faster than front-row seats to a baba’s Zoom satsang. The bulldozers cheer, the contractors cash in, and the divine? Well, it’s been evicted.
