Nikhil Kulkarni's Blog

Vijaydashmi: Making the right choice

2026-10-21T00:22:09.434+05:30

Today is Vijaydashmi, which is often labelled as the festival celebrating the triumph of good over evil symbolized by the victory of Rama over Ravana. While good and the evil feel so black-and-white in the Ramayana, they're often not. And it's not about choosing sides, but more often than not about the moral dilemma of choices we have to make in our lives.

Shri Ram’s story itself is a story of choices - he could have refused to go into vanvas (exile) in the first place - after all his father had no right to make a commitment on his behalf. Later, when Sita was abducted by Ravan and kept in Lanka, he could have summoned his brother Bharat and the army of Ayodhya, or easier still, sought a treaty with Ravana - perhaps giving away some territory in exchange for Sita’s return. But the story we inherit is not of Rama choosing the easiest settlement.

To me, the significance of that choice is larger than the recovery of Sita alone - after all, as we know from Uttar Kand, Ram sent Sita back into exile upon wish of his subjects, against his own wish. So, his cause could not have been a lover's strife for his loved one. Rama could have sought a bargain that secured his personal objective. Instead, he confronted Ravana’s tyrannical rule and fought to liberate Lanka from it. The victory was not simply a matter of getting back the love of his life; it was a refusal to accept that peace purchased without the larger goal of liberating the world from the tyranny of an unjust ruler was good enough.

In more recent times, Gandhi could have built a legal practice in London or South Africa and devoted himself to providing for his family. It is well known that his sons struggled for an education, and his political commitments placed great demands on his family life. None of this would have happened if he chose to live a personal life as a barrister and fulfil his commitments only to his own family. He could have abandoned public life after he became successful in South Africa and built a cozy life, based on the connections he had with the wealthy Indian merchants in South Africa. But he chose to return to India and lead the country into a freedom struggle which was aimed to liberate India not just politically, but also from the evils within our society.

Nehru too, as the son of an illustrious and prosperous barrister, could have pursued a legal career and lived a life of great wealth and comfort. He could have built a flourishing legal practice in London. One can imagine the scale of wealth and influence such a life might have brought - perhaps something comparable, in its own way, to the great fortunes associated with the Aga Khan trusts or the Hindujas. But Nehru simply dedicated his entire life to political emancipation of India, and then to its development.

Gandhi and Nehru made choices with consequences for their families, these tales of sacrifice are no less conflicting than the choices Lord Ram faced in his crusade against Ravan. In all cases, they turned away from the private safety their circumstances might have offered, committing instead to a public struggle whose outcome was far from certain and which was filled with hardships which they could have easily avoided given their personal social standing.

History is full of such forks in the road. Some were faced by rulers defending their kingdoms; others by people deciding what to do with their education, position or opportunity. Their circumstances were different, but the question was familiar: do we choose the easier life available to us, or do we take responsibility for a cause beyond ourselves?

Maharana Pratap could have accepted Mughal suzerainty, as many other Rajput rulers did, and continued to rule under the Mughal emperor. Such an arrangement might have preserved his position and the outward grandeur of kingship. But instead he chose to persevere at a great personal cost. Mewar suffered, and Pratap and his own kin spent years fighting under difficult conditions. His story is not simply that of a king defending his personal prestige. It is the story of a ruler who refused to accept that accommodation was the right and just path, even when resistance meant hardship and the future was uncertain.

Ahilyabai Holkar’s struggle was different - after the deaths of her husband and son, Ahilyabai sought permission from the Peshwa to rule the Holkar territories and was refused. She too could have accepted her fate, she would still have been provided a comfortable position of a regent princess and lived a life filled with royal comforts and pleasures. But she fought the patriarchy within the Peshwa bureaucracy, and her fight did not just win her a right to rule, but what she did with that rule made a larger difference. Her support for public works and welfare of her people - specifically women in general, and widowed women in particular. Her example reminds us that sometimes the difficult path is not a battlefield. It is insisting on the right to serve when others would prefer that you remain in the background.

When the British annexed Jhansi, Rani Lakshmibai appealed against the decision, but the appeals failed. The British offer granted her a pension and required her to leave the fort. Had she accepted the arrangement and lived on the pension, she would have lived a life of comforts - away from the responsibilities and dangers of ruling a kingdom. Instead, she resisted and became one of the most prominent leaders during the uprising of 1857. It is easy, looking back, to turn her life into a legend and forget the real choices involved. The pension offered a measure of security; resistance brought danger and ultimately death. Lakshmibai chose not to treat the loss of Jhansi as a private misfortune to be compensated for. She fought for the kingdom and its people, knowing that the odds were against her.

Tipu Sultan’s story was different - he first entered into a treaty with the East India Company. After the Third Anglo-Mysore War, the Treaty of Seringapatam in 1792 forced him to surrender territory, pay a heavy indemnity and even hand over two of his sons as hostages. He accepted those terms when defeat left him little choice. But the treaty did not end his resistance to British expansion. he continued to oppose the Company and died defending Seringapatam in 1799. His story is not that he never negotiated; it is that he first sacrificed his own son's as a part of the settlement, but ultimately did not turn a forced settlement into a permanent surrender of his political purpose.

Tipu's story contrasts several other rulers of his times who accepted British suzerainty to live lives filled with Royal comforts while their settlement and acceptance of the British policies made their subjects suffer at the hands of an unjust rule, and caused irreparable damage to India's economy for over two centuries. Each state faced similar circumstances, and each ruler made choices within them. But Tipu’s life stands for the cost of continuing to resist when a safer accommodation might have preserved a throne and a royal household.

And then let's think of our dear Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose. He had passed the Indian Civil Service exam and could have secured a prestigious career in the bureaucracy - in fact many who would have accepted such a role later continued to serve after India became independent. He could have taken up the post and built a successful life within the colonial administration and later. Instead, he withdrew from the service joined the freedom struggle. Later, he took many more risks and ultimately raised the Indian National Army, which could have been the ultimate reason for India's speedy liberation in '47.

Even post independence, we had many such stories where people made the right choices. Verghese Kurien’s story is probably the most illustrative of them. After studying abroad on a government scholarship, he was assigned to work at a government creamery in Anand. He could have completed his service and moved on to a more predictable career. Instead, he became involved with the cooperative movement led by Tribhuvandas Patel and the milk producers of Kaira. Kurien left his government job and worked with the farmers to build their cooperative which ultimately grew into Amul and transformed India’s dairy sector.

Then we have the doyen of Indian industry - J.R.D. Tata. Born in Paris, J.R.D. could have retained his French citizenship, instead he renounced it and became an Indian citizen. This was not a choice to give up wealth or a successful career - he went on to lead the Tata Group and contribute to the growth of Indian industry. But it was a choice about belonging and where to place his future. His story is different from those who gave up a profession or risked their lives in a political struggle. It belongs here as a quieter example of commitment: choosing India as home and making one’s work part of its future.

Vijaydashmi is about making the right choice

Most of us will never be asked to defend a kingdom, give up a prestigious career or risk our lives for a political cause. But we face smaller versions of the same question.

Do we speak up when silence would be easier? Do we continue with work that matters when recognition is uncertain? Do we continue to live in a certain place and work for its progress and upliftment or abandon it for greener pastures elsewhere? Do we stand by a principle when doing so may cost us an opportunity? Or do we choose the convenient compromise - not because it is right, but because it helps us avoid conflict or gains us comfort?

I am not saying every compromise is wrong, and every struggle is wise. Sometimes rising above one's personal ego and entering a compromise for the larger good may be the right choice to make. The question is what we are compromising, and why. There are times when negotiation and accommodation are necessary. But there are also times when avoiding a struggle means abandoning something that matters - or leaving someone else to bear the cost.

The spirit of Vijaydashmi is not only in the final victory. It is also in the decision to keep going when victory is uncertain: to resist, to serve, to take responsibility and to stand by a cause beyond oneself.

We celebrate Rama’s victory over Ravana. We should also remember the choices that made such a victory possible - and the people in every age who chose not to give up before they knew how the story would end. That, in my opinion, is the complete spirit of Vijaydashmi.

Evolution of languages in India

2026-10-14T13:51:05.414+05:30

Click the image to zoom-in

It was a lazy Saturday-afternoon discussion over coffee with friends, discussing life, its struggles et al, when one of us mentioned about how government documents, especially forms to be filled for various compliances were written in a complicated language, difficult to interpret even for the well educated. Someone remarked that this tendency was probably a remnant of Mughal times when the royal court used Urdu, while the people spoke Hindi in the streets. That one sentence was wrong at so many levels that I felt compelled to intervene to tell him that Urdu and Hindi hadn't even been birthed when the Mughals ruled; nevertheless, the Mughal court operated in Persian, which too was not the language of the masses.

He quickly Googled my claim for accuracy, and quietly agreed with me; and then popped up a curious question: Why is it that the Mughal court transacted its business in Persian when the Mughals belonged to Mongolia, and came to India via Turkmenistan - thus having no direct lineage to Persia or the Persian kingdom? That question left me also dumbfounded - his logic was quite incisive, the Mughals indeed had no direct connection to Persia. That sent me into a long deep dive into the evolution of languages in India through the ages, going back to 2000 BCE, all the way till the present. My discovery was fascinating and revealed how language use is interrelated with not just geopolitical but more so social evolution of the Indian society.

The first thing I discovered was that the question itself contained a small historical wrinkle. The Mughals were not simply 'from Mongolia'. Babur, the founder of the dynasty, was a Central Asian Timurid prince: descended from Timur on his father’s side and from Genghis Khan’s Mongol Chagatai line on his mother’s. He belonged to a Turko-Persian cultural world where Persian was already a language of prestige, literature and administration. The Mughals weren't Persian by ancestry but chose Persian as the language, because that was the language which held most prestige in the world they knew.

And that, as it turns out, is the whole story. Languages do not travel only with rulers. They travel with soldiers, scribes, religious institutions, schools, courts, trade routes and the promise of a job. Sometimes a language becomes powerful because it is the language of prayer; sometimes because it is the language of poetry; sometimes because it is the language in which the tax collector writes down what you owe.

The evolution of language that I came across is unlike a relay race with one language handing the baton to another but rather more like a crowded Indian train station: several languages arriving, departing, exchanging travelers (speakers), and occasionally even transferring entire coaches from one to the other.

Before language: a subcontinent of scripts, sounds and dialects

When we talk about the evolution of languages in India, we often begin with Sanskrit. That is understandable: Sanskrit has an extraordinary literary and religious history, and its influence on many languages is unmistakable. But it is not the beginning of the whole story. The subcontinent has always been home to multiple language families, and Sanskrit is one important strand in a much larger linguistic fabric.

Major language families in the Indian subcontinent include [refer image above] Indo-Aryan, Dravidian, Austroasiatic and Tibeto-Burman, alongside smaller families and languages whose relationships remain uncertain.

Indo-Aryan languages include Hindi, Bengali, Marathi, Punjabi, Gujarati, Assamese and many others.
Dravidian family includes Tamil, Telugu, Kannada and Malayalam, as well as languages such as Gondi, Kurukh, Malto and Brahui.
Munda languages, part of the Austroasiatic family, are spoken in parts of central and eastern India;
Tibeto-Burman languages are prominent across the Himalayan and northeastern regions.

All these families existed in some form or other, even before the formalization of the two proto-languages: Sanskrit and Tamil. In fact, Sanskrit and Tamil themselves got formalized by litterateurs and scholars from a proto-Indo-Aryan and a proto-Dravidian dialects which existed far before any of the Indian languages emerged. A review by linguist Sonal Kulkarni-Joshi describes the diversity of languages and dialects and the long history of interaction among these families.

Notably, the dates and routes behind these families are not all equally certain. Linguists reconstruct earlier languages by comparing patterns in words and grammar, but a reconstructed language is not the same thing as a language recorded in an inscription. We do not have a written record of Proto-Dravidian, for example. A Bayesian study of the Dravidian family estimated that the family may be about 4,500 years old, while also emphasizing that its geographical homeland and dispersal remain uncertain. The fact that the Baluchi people in North Western part of India (now Pakistan), speak Brahui which is a Dravidian language, geographically isolated from its cousins, with the nearest being over 1,500 kilometers away in South India, speaks volumes about the lack of proper knowledge about the geographical homeland of proto-Dravidian languages.

The same caution applies to the early history of Indo-Aryan languages. The prevailing view among historical linguists is that Indo-Aryan languages entered the subcontinent in the 2nd millennium BCE, as part of the wider family of Indo-European languages (which would include Germanic family of languages precursors to present day European languages).

But the details of movement, contact and language change are debated, and the evidence does not justify turning linguistic families into racial or cultural boxes. A language family tells us about the historical relationship between languages; it does not tell us that everyone who speaks one of those languages belongs to one ancestry or one community. Kulkarni-Joshi’s review is particularly useful here because it discusses both the evidence and the limits of what historical linguistics can establish.

There is another important point: languages did not evolve in isolation. The subcontinent is often described as a linguistic area because languages from different families shared features after centuries of contact. Similarities in sound systems, sentence structure and other grammatical patterns can arise through bilingualism and long-term interaction, not only through common ancestry. The languages of India have not merely occupied the same map; they have changed one another.

Prakrit, Apabhramsa and the languages people actually spoke

So if languages in India were a potpourri even in ancient times (just like they're today), why is Sanskrit often described as an ancient language? The reason for Sanskrit's stature is both linguistic and political - Sanskrit was probably one the first among languages to get codified into formal rules of grammar and diction. And this formalization was a probably due to its particular social and cultural role. Sanskrit was a language of learning, ritual, philosophy and literary prestige. But Sanskrit was not the everyday speech of everyone across the subcontinent.

Alongside Sanskrit were the Prakrits: a broad group of Middle Indo-Aryan languages and speech forms. The word Prakrit is often explained to contrast with Sanskrit but the historical relationship between Sanskrit and Prakrit is more complicated than a simple “formal language versus its corrupted version.” Modern scholars commonly believe Prakrits as vernacular languages, regionally varied and the relationship between them and Sanskrit was understood differently by different grammatical traditions.

This distinction between a prestigious literary language and everyday speech is not unique to India. Western readers, can appreciate Prakrit vs Sanskrit by comparing Prakrits with Cockney or Highland English while Sanskrit to Standard British English. In India however, the distinction became especially visible in religious and political life. Buddhist traditions used Pali and other Middle Indo-Aryan forms; Jain traditions used languages such as Ardhamagadhi. These choices mattered. They made it possible to communicate religious ideas in languages beyond the most formal Sanskritic register, even as Sanskrit continued to hold immense prestige.

The inscriptions of Ashoka offer a striking example of how a ruler could address a multilingual population. Most of Ashoka’s inscriptions, from the 3rd century BCE, were written in dialects of Prakrit, with regional variation across the empire. The OpenEdition study of Ashokan inscriptions describes the use of different Prakrit dialects and early Brahmi script. This is not to mean that Ashoka pioneered the modern policy of linguistic secularism (although he may have!) Rather, it is testimony to the fact that even an emperor of Ashok's stature could not impose one language everywhere, and assume that his 'court language' would be equally intelligible to all his subjects; he too had to use a combination to reach masses over whom he governed.

Over time, the Middle Indo-Aryan languages changed further. Linguists use terms such as Apabhraṃśa for later stages and literary forms that connect Middle Indo-Aryan with the newer Indo-Aryan languages. By the period immediately before and around the Ghaznavid conquests of north India, Apabhraṃśa was extremely important in northern Indian literary culture. It wasn't one single language in the modern sense. "Apabhraṃśa" is a scholarly term referring to a group of late Middle Indo-Aryan literary forms that evolved from Prakrits and ultimately contributed to stratification in languages such as early Hindi/Rajasthani/Gujarati/Punjabi and related languages.

A scholarly history from Aligarh Muslim University describes 'Western Apabhraṃśa' as an important literary language of the Rajput courts of northern India immediately before the Turkic conquest. Thus, by around the 1st millennium CE, the ancestors of many present-day Indo-Aryan languages were taking recognizable shape. Bengali, Gujarati, Punjabi and other languages developed their own literary traditions over time. Marathi had already emerged a little earlier through a long history of regional speech and writing, not as a sudden offshoot of a single courtly decision - in fact, the development period of Marathi was contemporaneous with rapid regime changes and skirmishes with bordering kingdoms.

While Indo-Aryan languages were getting developed, inter-mixed and refined, Dravidian languages too were taking shape in the same era. Tamil, Kannada, Telugu and Malayalam followed their own evolution, with deep literary traditions of their own. Edicts and inscriptions going back to 1 to 10th century CE illustrate that Dravidian languages were not simply vernaculars but were written languages of political authority and administration at different times and in different regional settings. The earliest edicts are in Tamil in 1st CE, with Kannada and Telugu edicts dated around 450-500CE.

Notably however, Ashoka's rock edicts from 3rd century BCE mentioning the Cholas, Pandyas, Satyaputras and Keralaputras were written in Prakrit using Brahmi, not in Tamil or another Dravidian language; indicating that Indo-Aryan languages would have been understood in peninsular India even 2000 years ago.

Oncoming of Persian, and birth of Hindi/Urdu

Now to the question that started my deep dive: when did Persian enter the Indian lexicon? Persian most likely entered India via the Arab conquests of Sindh, but that would not have been a reason enough for its proliferation throughout northern India. Persian was already a language of administration and high culture across a vast region stretching through Iran, Central Asia and parts of South Asia. It had a long bureaucratic tradition, a rich literary canon and a network of trained scribes. The rulers who came from Central Asia did not have to be ethnically Persian to find Persian useful. They inherited a political world in which Persian was a ready-made language of governance. This was also the period when India's trade was at its peak, and Central Asia was not just a trade partner in itself, but also the route through which trade to trading partners further West, all the way to Rome, was carried out.

That explains why the Delhi Sultanate established Persian as a language of administration far before the Mughals arrived. The Mughals built on that inheritance. Under Akbar, Persian was established as the official language of administration across the empire in 1582, according to the Oxford Handbook of the Mughal World. Persian was not merely a decorative court language. It was used in revenue administration, official correspondence, chronicles and legal proceedings.

This choice also created a professional class. If you wanted a position in the bureaucracy, Persian literacy could be an advantage. Hindu trading communities, including Kayasthas, Khatris and Brahmins, learned Persian for trade initially but later transitioned to scribal roles having found their knowledge of Persian to be a gateway to being employed in the administrative system. The Oxford Handbook notes that Persian became an “admission ticket” to the Mughal revenue bureaucracy, and that many indigenous elites learned it for government employment. In other words, Persian was not simply imposed by foreign rulers on a passive population. It became embedded in local institutions and careers.

That is one reason the idea that Persian was “the language of the Mughals” can be misleading. It was the language of the state, diplomacy and trade in the 'region', but it was also a language learned and used by people across religious and regional lines.

The Mughal empire itself was multilingual. Persian dominated at the imperial level, but regional languages continued to be used in local administration, literature, devotional writing and everyday life. Village records, where they existed, could be kept in regional languages even while higher administration operated in Persian. In fact, the Mughals also patronized Sanskrit and vernacular literatures. Sanskrit scholars worked at court; Hindu epics were translated into Persian; Braj poetry received patronage; and regional languages such as Bengali, Marathi, Gujarati, Telugu, Kannada and Dakhni flourished in different settings. The Mughal court was not a language vacuum in which Persian erased everything else. It was one powerful centre in a multilingual world.

This is where the original coffee-table remark gets the history backwards. The Mughal court definitely did not use Urdu while the people spoke Hindi. The Mughal court used Persian for much of its official business. Urdu, in its present-day form, developed over time from Indo-Aryan speech in and around Delhi, shaped by contact with Persian, Arabic and other languages. It was not the language of the Mughal court but rather very much the reverse - the language of the masses.

Urdu and Hindi: related speech, different literary directions

Urdu did not arrive in India with the Mughals, nor was it invented by them. Urdu developed from local Indo-Aryan speech, especially the Delhi region’s Khari Boli, in a multilingual environment shaped by Persian, Arabic, Turkish and regional languages. The Encyclopaedia Iranica account of Urdu traces Urdu to the regional speech of Delhi and describes the influence of Persian after the Muslim conquests.

The language had several names over time: Hindavi, Hindui, Hindustani, Rekhta and others. The names were not always used consistently, and they did not map neatly onto today’s categories of Hindi and Urdu. The word “Urdu” itself is associated with zaban-e urdu-e mualla, often translated as the language of the exalted camp - this could mean the court or royalty, but given its origins and antecedents, it most likely was meant to denote high-culture: a language in which poetry and prose of high-quality was written. This explanation is more likely because Urdu’s development was not a single event in a royal court but rather a gradual process involving local speech, migration, literary patronage and contact across communities.

Urdu’s literary history grew in multiple regions. Dakhni, a southern form of Urdu, developed in the Deccan and was used in poetry and religious writing. Persian remained the language of administration in many courts, even as Dakhni and other vernaculars gained literary status. Later, poets and writers from the Deccan moved north, and the language associated with Delhi and Lucknow developed into a major literary medium.

Hindi and Urdu are often treated today as two entirely separate languages, but at the level of everyday speech they share a great deal. Their grammatical base is the same, and ordinary spoken forms are often mutually intelligible. The differences become more pronounced in formal vocabulary, literary traditions and scripts: Hindi is generally written in Devanagari and tends to draw more heavily on Sanskrit vocabulary in formal registers; Urdu is written in a Perso-Arabic script, usually Nastaliq, and draws more heavily on Persian and Arabic in formal registers. Northwestern University’s open textbook on Urdu explains that the similarities between Hindi and Urdu are often greater than their differences, especially in everyday speech.

The British period and gazettization of language

India is a living testament to diversity and coagulated co-existence. While the slogan "Unity in Diversity" may have been coined by the makers of modern India, it is simply a reflection of India through its centuries old unwritten tradition. This is as much or rather even more true of language than any other aspect of culture. Just as the Mughals chose Persian, not because it was 'their own language', every region had a distinct language being used in courts and in the bazaar - often the language of choice having no bearing on who was the ruling satrap locally.

Marathi, Telugu, Tulu flourished alongside Persian in the Bahmani kingdoms of Deccan, while Marathi was equally powerful in Maratha ruled feudatories of Central India, co-existing of course with Hindi/Urdu, and even Gujarati and Nimadi. Similarly, the Travancore kingdom transacted official business in Malyalam, with Tamil being used in several parts. And while kingdoms of Awadh and the Sikh empire used Persian as their official languages, the masses spoke Awadhi and Punjabi / Haryanvi in these regions.

With this level of diversity already prevalent by the time the British marched into India, they had no choice but to inherit the Mughal language system. Persian thus remained important in administration under the East India Company for a time. And even though the colonial state eventually replaced Persian in 1837, they did (and could not) replace it instantly with English. The East India Company ended Persian’s official role in judicial and revenue proceedings and allowed other languages and scripts to be used. In northern India, Urdu written in the Persian script became an important court language in many areas, while English rose in higher administration and education. The Allahabad High Court’s historical account describes the legal change and the resulting use of Urdu in Persian script in the North-Western Provinces.

This was not a simple switch from Persian to “the language of the people.” The colonial state needed languages that could be standardized, taught, documented and used in courts. It also needed a bureaucracy that could translate between local administration and the language of the ruling power. English became increasingly important at the top; vernacular languages were used in other administrative settings; and Urdu gained official standing in parts of northern India.

It is here that, Hindi and Urdu started getting more sharply distinguished in public life. The distinction was not only linguistic. It involved script, education, employment, literary identity and political representation. Advocates of Hindi promoted Devanagari and Sanskrit-derived vocabulary; Urdu supporters defended the Perso-Arabic script and a Persianate literary tradition. The two varieties had long shared a spoken base, but colonial institutions helped turn differences of script and vocabulary into markers of community and political claim.

This is not to say that the British separated Hindi and Urdu purposely or by diktat. The languages and literary traditions had independent, albeit parallel histories, even before colonial rule. But colonial administration, print culture, education, census categories and gazette notifications, helped harden distinctions that had previously been more fluid. The language question became entangled with the question of who would have access to government jobs, whose script would be recognized in courts, and whose literary tradition would be treated as the standard.

English, independence and the continuing argument over language

The British period ultimately brought English into the centre of Indian public life. English became the language of higher administration, law, education and elite employment. It did not replace Indian languages in everyday life, but it created a new hierarchy: English at the top of many institutions, regional languages in local and cultural life, and Hindi and Urdu in a complicated relationship across northern India.

After independence, India faced a difficult question: could a country with so many languages choose one language for the Union without alienating large parts of its population? The Constitution named Hindi in Devanagari as the official language of the Union, while providing for the continued use of English for official purposes during a transition period. Pakistan on the other hand mirrored what India did except that it replaced Urdu for Hindi. Two languages which even today share so much in common have eventually been separated out by nationalities. However, the continued patronage Urdu receives in India is testimony that political boundaries cannot replace the place languages have in people's hearts. In fact, recent reports indicate that even Sanskrit is finding patronage in Pakistan.

In the present-day, the Indian Constitution’s Eighth Schedule recognizes 22 languages, including Assamese, Bengali, Gujarati, Hindi, Kannada, Kashmiri, Konkani, Malayalam, Manipuri, Marathi, Nepali, Odia, Punjabi, Sanskrit, Sindhi, Tamil, Telugu, Urdu, Bodo, Santhali, Maithili and Dogri. The Ministry of Home Affairs’ list of scheduled languages makes clear that India’s constitutional language landscape is not a one-language arrangement.

The states, too, have their own official languages. This is not an administrative inconvenience that India has failed to solve; it is a reflection of the country’s linguistic reality. The reorganization of states along linguistic lines, especially in the decades after independence, recognized that language is not merely a tool for communication. It is tied to education, literature, public services and a sense of belonging.

And English too remains important partly because it can function as a bridge language between people who do not share a mother tongue, and partly because it is deeply embedded in higher education, law, business and government. The expectation that English would cease to be used after few years of independence had proved politically impossible. English has continued, and the Official Languages Act provided for its continued use alongside Hindi. But its continued dominance also raises questions about access and inequality. A person who is fluent in English may find it easier to navigate institutions, while someone equally educated in a regional language may face barriers. The problem is not that English exists; it is that access to English can become a proxy for access to opportunity.

And this brings me back to the government compliance 'forms' that started the conversation. The difficulty of government language is not a Mughal inheritance in any simple sense. It is a problem of bureaucracy, legal drafting, institutional habit and the distance between the language of administration and the language people use in daily life. Persian once served as a language of administration because it was the language of a trained scribal system but also because it was the language of international commerce back then. English later occupied a similar position in colonial and postcolonial institutions, and has expanded to occupy that position now globally, not just regionally. And yet, official documents may be written in English, Hindi or a state language, but they can still be needlessly difficult to understand.

The lesson is not that one language is inherently more accessible than another. It is that institutions often use language to signal authority, expertise and status. A form written in dense legal English can be just as alienating as a Persian document would have been to someone who had never learned Persian. The language changes; the distance between the state and the citizen can remain.

Coda: What the language story tells us about India

The evolution of languages in the subcontinent is not a story of one civilization replacing another, and hence a language replacing another. Neither is it a story of 'official languages' trampling over local dialects. Rather, its testimony to India's culture that no ruler of India - foreign or local - has ever been able to impose any linguistic tradition on his/her subjects. And as a result, the story of languages in India is a story of how multiple layers have coexisted.

Sanskrit became a language of religious and intellectual prestige. Prakrits and other vernaculars carried everyday speech and religious teaching. Regional languages developed literary traditions and political importance. Persian became a language of administration and high culture under the Delhi Sultanate and the Mughals, and was learned by local elites who wanted to participate in government. Urdu and Hindi developed from related speech forms, then acquired increasingly distinct scripts and literary registers. English entered through colonial rule and remains influential because institutions continue to use it.

At every stage, language was connected to power - but not only to power. It was also connected to devotion, poetry, trade, education, migration and the ordinary need to speak to one another. A language could be the language of a court in one setting, a language of poetry in another, and a language learned by a local clerk hoping to secure a livelihood in a third.

The Mughals’ use of Persian is therefore not mysterious once we stop assuming that rulers must govern in the language of their ancestry. Empires often adopt languages that already have administrative reach and cultural prestige. The Mughals were Central Asian rulers who inherited a Persianate political world and made Persian their language of state. That choice was practical, but it also shaped the careers of Indian scribes, the culture of the court and the vocabulary of languages spoken across the subcontinent.

And Urdu? It was not the language of the Mughal court ever! It emerged over time from local speech and multilingual contact, and later became a major literary language in its own right. Hindi and Urdu are not simply two unrelated languages that happened to meet; they are closely related varieties whose modern distinctions reflect history, script, literary convention and politics as much as grammar.

The next time you hear someone say that a language is “foreign” because it was used by a ruler, please do ask a few questions. Was it foreign to the people who learned it and used it? Was it foreign to the scribes who built careers in it? Was it foreign to the poets who made it their own? And if a language has been spoken, written, adapted and loved for centuries, at what point does it stop being an outsider’s language?

The answer, I suspect, will not end up with a linear correspondence to the family tree of rulers. It will upend the very core of 'ruler decides the language' hypothesis, and speak about lives of the people who used the language, loved it, nurtured it and made it a part of their existence and of their progeny.

Sources

Men Plan Coordinates, Women Plan Everything Else - But Why?

2026-09-27T20:51:14.146+05:30

Women were as much into hunting as men in prehistoric society

John Konrad’s tweet (see below) about men communicating weekend plans like a military operation made me laugh because it was hillariously familiar.

John Ʌ Konrad V (@johnkonrad) on X

Once upon a time, I set out to solve one of marriage’s great mysteries. Armed with a notebook, a recorder, and the confidence of a man who had absolutely no idea what he was getting into, I began my investigation into…

The tweet's summary is:

When a man says: “I am leaving at 7 a.m. Saturday. I will return by noon.” That, according to him, is the complete operational intelligence required by the family.

A woman, on the other hand, apparently responds with a detailed intelligence briefing involving a flower festival, a yoga class, a friend’s child, a possible change of venue, a teacher’s meeting, a grocery list, and the unresolved question of whether there is any cream cheese left in the refrigerator. Somewhere in the middle of this briefing is the actual time at which she intends to leave the house.

This was hilalriously familiar because a few days back I was having a similar conversation with my wife while we were driving somewhere. We were discussing about the weekend plans, and I went into a monologue about when we would leave for my in-laws’ house, when would I return home, and what time I would start again the next day to pick them up.

After listening to my monologue for some time, my wife exclaimed: Why are all men - me, her father, her uncle - always so obsessed with planning the time and place coordinates of leaving and reaching somewhere?

My daughter, who was listening to sitting next to me, was smiling at the conversation which trigerred me into making this a Dad's teachable moment!

I got into a lengthy explaination about how this was probably evolutionary. Men, I said, had historically been tasked with hunting in groups. Hunting large animals - perhaps hippos or lions (depending on how adventurous our ancestors were!) - required planning the time, place and direction of attack with precision. It required coordination, distance estimation and a clear understanding of when to leave and when to return.

Women, on the other hand, stayed closer to the village or hut. They had to react when an animal strayed into the settlement or an insect into the hut, protect the children and the elderly, and hence remain alert to several things happening around them. Therefore, I concluded, men evolved into compulsive planners of time and place, while women developed greater sensory awareness and the ability to monitor multiple things simultaneously.

It sounded convincing in the car.

It even sounded perfectly 'scientific'.

Unfortunately, the more I read about it, the less certain I became.

There is some truth behind the broad idea that men and women historically performed different kinds of work. Anthropologists have long observed that in many foraging societies men hunted more often and women gathered more often, while women also spent more time looking after young children. It is not difficult to imagine how different activities could encourage different skills. Long-distance hunting would reward navigation, route planning and spatial memory. Gathering, childcare and life around the settlement would reward close observation, recognition of detail, memory of people and objects, and the ability to respond to several changing circumstances.

But the popular version of this story - men hunted while women stayed at home - is far too simplistic.

A 2023 study published in PLOS ONE, titled The Myth of Man the Hunter, examined ethnographic evidence from 63 foraging societies. It found that women participated in hunting in 79 percent of the societies for which suitable data was available. In many cases, this was not just opportunistic hunting when an animal happened to cross their path. Women deliberately hunted, used their own weapons and sometimes targeted large game.

Archaeological evidence has also begun to challenge the assumption that men were hunters and women were caretakers. Studies of Indian rock art at Bhimbetka (near Bhopal, Madhya Pradesh, India - the earliest known remnants of human settlements) revealed stratified sequences from the Lower Palaeolithic to Early Historic. These rock-art paintings, from late Palaeolithic or early Mesolithic times, show men as stick figures accompanied by rectangular-shaped women holding bows and arrows.

Hunting was the main occupation of humans in these times since agriculture has not been developed yet, and anyone physically and mentally fit and strong with good stamina to run and chase animals, could be a good hunter. Possibly, old or unfit for hunting people, were supposed to take care of children and other things. Nevertheless, early men and women equally participated in hunting and gathering; and women have actively participated in hunting during Mesolithic times. For example, at Pachmarhi, Bori, a pregnant woman is shown with a bow and three arrows with big arrowheads - there are many other examples available from rock-paintings from other parts of the region.

So my explanation to my daughter had already gone wrong at the starting point. Women did not merely remain in the hut waiting for a snake or wolf to appear. They also hunted, tracked, planned and navigated. Men did not merely go out to hunt and then return to the village. They also gathered, cared for children and contributed to activities closer to home. The division of labour existed, but it was a division of emphasis rather than a division of capability.

There is, however, some evidence for average differences in spatial skills. A 2019 meta-analysis of 266 studies on human navigation found that men performed better than women, on average, in large-scale navigation tasks. The effect was small to moderate, not enormous. More importantly, the difference varied considerably depending on the task, the environment, the age of the participants and whether the task involved pointing, remembering routes, estimating distances or learning a map.

This is an important distinction. Saying that men perform somewhat better on average in certain navigation experiments is not the same as saying that every man is better at finding his way than every woman. I know several women who can navigate cities, airports and unfamiliar neighbourhoods far better than I can 🙌. I also know men who can get lost in a shopping mall despite having Google Maps, a fully charged phone and a sign pointing towards the exit 😁.

Recent research has also questioned whether any average difference in navigation is directly an adaptation produced by ancestral hunting. A 2024 study found little evidence that sex differences in spatial ability are connected to the size of a person’s home range. The authors suggested that experience, learning and other biological factors may explain more than the simple evolutionary story that men travelled farther because they hunted.

Here is why evolution-based explanations become dangerous. They often begin with a genuine observation and then leap over several missing steps. Men may, on average, be somewhat better at certain spatial tasks. Therefore men must have evolved as hunters. Women may, in some settings, notice detail or context more readily. Therefore women must have evolved as protectors of the settlement. This reverse causation is a very satisfying narrative because it converts an everyday observation into a story about human origins.

But satisfying is not the same as proven.

The claim that women are naturally better at multitasking is even less established. Several studies have found no meaningful difference between men and women in multitasking performance. A 2018 study using an everyday computer-based scenario found no sex difference in accuracy, speed, route planning, memory or the management of distractions. A 2019 study from PLOS ONE similarly found that multitasking imposed substantial costs on everyone, but that those costs did not differ significantly between men and women.

There are some exceptions. A 2013 study found that women were better at devising strategies for locating a lost key in one multitasking experiment. A 2026 study found that men and women performed similarly on most visual and manual tasks, however, women were better at continuing a conversation while multitasking. This is perhaps the most realistic finding of all. The difference may not be that women can magically perform several unrelated tasks at once. It may be that women are less likely to mentally disconnect from the conversation while doing something else.

Which brings me back to the family discussion we had in the car.

Perhaps men communicate plans as coordinates because we are trying to reduce uncertainty. Departure time. Destination. Return time. These are the facts we believe will allow us to understand the plan.

Perhaps women communicate plans as a web of relationships and contingencies because the plan is not merely a movement from Point A to Point B. It includes who else is involved, what may change, what needs to be bought, who has to be picked up, which child has an activity, and whether the person responsible for the yoga class is available that weekend.

The man is asking: “What time are we leaving?”

The woman may be answering: “That depends on five other things, and all five of them are relevant.”

This may have something to do with evolution but may also have something to do with social conditioning, household responsibilities, personal experience and the simple fact that different people pay attention to different things.

My original explanation was a classic example of a father trying to turn an ordinary family observation into a grand theory of human nature. The research has made me less confident about the theory, but more appreciative of the observation.

Men may often want the coordinates first.

Women may often remember everything around the coordinates.

But the real difference is probably not that men plan while women react, or that men focus while women multitask.

It is that men ask, “What time are we leaving?”

And women already know why that is not the most important question.

The Ethics of Artificial Intelligence

2026-09-13T00:01:57.202+05:30

Over the last two days, the world of AI has been struck by two maelstroms. Both concern ethics, both involve two of the world’s leading AI companies, and both force us to ask whether the institutions directing the development of artificial intelligence are equal to the responsibility they have assumed. Yet they illuminate two quite different dimensions of the problem of Ethics in AI.

The first arose from a dispute involving New York University mathematician Tristan Buckmaster, his collaborator Levent Alpöge and OpenAI. Buckmaster and Alpöge had spent about a year working on difficult problems related to the Navier–Stokes equations, using models from OpenAI and Anthropic as research tools. OpenAI subsequently mounted its own large-scale agentic effort after hearing that progress had been made on a Millennium Prize problem. It then announced a result within days, triggering questions about research confidentiality, the use of customer interactions in model training, scientific attribution and the conduct of a powerful corporation towards individual researchers.

The second maelstrom followed the resignation of Jacob Coxon, followed by Joe Benton from Anthropic. Coxon said that he had spent the previous three years conducting pretraining research at OpenAI and Anthropic, and accused both companies of racing towards self-improving superintelligence while “gambling with our lives”. More strikingly, some people still working in AI safety publicly supported the sincerity and substance of his warning, even while adding important qualifications. Joe Benton's announcement of leaving Anthropic’s safety team has similarly accused AI companies of racing to build machines that are much smarter than any human, and that [he believes] we may not survive this. Benton also accused these AI companies of underinvesting in safety and that he wanted to work from outside the major AI laboratories, by joining the Model Evaluation & Threat Research (METR) team, to improve public awareness, transparency and independent evaluation of advanced AI risks.

The contrast between the stories is revealing. The dispute with Buckmaster is principally about business ethics in the development and use of AI: privacy, consent, transparency, attribution, fair dealing and corporate power. Coxon and Benton’s resignations are principally about the ethics of AI development itself: what kinds of intelligence should be created, how quickly they should be created, what evidence of safety should be required and who has the moral authority to decide how much risk humanity must accept.

These are complementary dimensions of Ethics in AI which cannot be limited to teaching a machine to behave ethically; it must also require the organisations building and deploying that machine to behave ethically. A company cannot persuasively promise to align a future superintelligence with human values if its own incentives, governance and conduct are not demonstrably aligned with those values today.

My own interest in Ethics

My interest in ethics began in business school, when I first noticed Business Ethics in our course curriculum. I had expected an MBA to include accounting, management, marketing, supply-chain and finance. I had not expected ethics to be taught as a business discipline in its own right. That unexpected subject immediately intrigued me.

The intrigue turned into delight when our professor, Prof. Dhun Dastur, explained her distinctive teaching method. Instead of treating ethics as a collection of abstract moral rules, she would use famous Hollywood films - Wall Street, Jerry Maguire and Erin Brockovich, among others - as case studies. We would watch people encounter ethical choices, falter in making ethical decisions, but also watch how some protagonists fought against greed, money, ambition, and corruption. We were required to then critique the decisions made, debate about loyalty to shareholders vs social consequences of profit maximization and the consequences of corporate decisions which often appear to be based on sound management principlies. Discussions in class were about where business judgment ended and where ethical responsibility began.

That course conveyed a lesson which has remained relevant throughout my career: ethical failures rarely introduce themselves as ethical failures. They arrive disguised as commercial necessity, competitive pressure, loyalty to an employer, obedience to authority, an attractive shortcut or a supposedly temporary compromise. The protagonists of real business controversies do not usually believe that they are choosing between good and evil. They believe that they are choosing between competing obligations - and that their preferred obligation is the practical one.

My first, and only, employer KPMG being an audit firm at its roots further deepened my interest and education in Business Ethics. While I often scorned at the speed breakers that Risk Management procedures would put in getting new business, or the annual independence training and quiz which I had to take, year-on-year the concepts of professional integrity, independence, accountability and public trust were ingrained in my mind over more than a decade. I learnt that concepts of ethical business and corporate responsibility are part of the environment in which business decisions had to be understood. I also had a chance to work on a few projects where my technical knowledge had to be applied in context of these ethical conundrums and those experiences further strengthened my interest in Business Ethics.

It is perhaps not accidental that my interest in technology later drew me towards data privacy. Privacy lies directly at the intersection of technology and ethics. It asks not merely whether data can be collected, analysed and reused, but whether it should be; whether a person really understood the bargain; whether consent was meaningful; whether a powerful institution is respecting human autonomy; and whether legal permission has been mistaken for moral legitimacy, and whether legitimate interests of a corporation may end up trampling over fundamental rights of an individual.

More recently, I have studied ISO42001, the international standard for Artificial Intelligence Management Systems. The standard requires organisations to establish, implement, maintain and continually improve a management system for the responsible development, provision or use of AI. It brings valuable discipline to AI governance by requiring policies, assigned responsibilities, risk and impact assessments, lifecycle controls, monitoring, audits and continual improvement.

Yet, my reading of the standard left me wanting more on the actual guardrails of AI development because like other ISO standards, 42001 talks about a robust process and “management system”, but skirts along the actual principles of Ethical and responsible AI, leaving it to implementors and companies themselves to set appropriate boundaries. Like other management-system standards, 42001 is strong on the architecture of governance: an organisation should identify risks, define objectives, select controls, assign owners, retain evidence and review performance. But a management system cannot by itself settle humanity’s most difficult moral questions. It can require an organisation to establish risk-acceptance criteria; it cannot conclusively tell that organisation what level of existential risk is morally acceptable. It can require responsible-AI objectives to be documented; it cannot, on its own, determine the civilisational boundary beyond which development should stop.

This is not a defect unique to ISO42001. A process standard must be general enough to work across organisations, sectors and cultures. Nevertheless, the distinction matters. A sound management system can ensure that an organisation follows its chosen principles consistently; it cannot guarantee that the principles chosen are ethically sufficient. A perfectly documented process may still produce a morally unacceptable decision.

I therefore began wondering whether Isaac Asimov’s Three Laws of Robotics could provide foundational principles for AI systems:

do not harm a human
obey human orders unless obedience would cause harm, and;
protect oneself unless self-protection conflicts with the first two laws

Yet Asimov’s stories themselves demonstrate why this apparently elegant solution is inadequate. The laws conflict because concepts such as “harm”, “obedience”, “humanity” and “protection” are neither simple nor self-executing.

And as we're also realizing increasingly as AI develops, these concepts are not easy to be coded or 'prompted' into machines in a way which the machines understand. Preventing one harm can cause another; obeying one human can violate another’s rights; and protecting humanity in the abstract can be used to justify coercing particular human beings. The 3 laws may have been a productive ethical thought experiment for Asimov, but are not in any way a sufficient engineering specification.

Encountering an Alien Mind

Just before these two controversies erupted, I read OpenAI Chief Scientist Jakub Pachocki’s essay, “An Alien Mind”. It is an unusually candid description of both the promise and the danger of frontier AI. Pachocki argues that AI is “grown” more than it is designed: vast computational optimisation produces a system of such complexity that its overall operation escapes complete human understanding. More so, because machine intelligence arises through a process fundamentally different from human intelligence, there is no reason to assume that AI will naturally adopt human principles or generalise them in the way humans expect.

Pachocki distinguishes between goal alignment and value alignment. Goal alignment asks whether an AI tries to achieve the objective placed before it. Value alignment asks something deeper: whether it can act reasonably, honestly and with regard for humanity when instructions are unclear, conflicting, unfamiliar or adversarial. This is a useful distinction because an AI can pursue an assigned goal with extraordinary competence while violating the values that made the goal worth pursuing in the first place.

The essay also acknowledges uncomfortable limitations. Present alignment methods can produce good behaviour in familiar settings but may be brittle outside them. Chain-of-thought monitoring has offered a window into the reasoning of some models, but Pachocki says confidence in this technique is diminishing as systems become better at manipulating their own reasoning processes and achieving more without verbalised reasoning.

Interestingly, he concludes that no laboratory has solved alignment and monitoring well enough to continue scaling at maximum speed for much longer, and calls for safety thresholds, external enforcement, voluntary slowdowns and international coordination. This point incidentally is exactly what Coxon and Benton both are also making, albeit with added dissatisfaction that both OpenAI (which employs Pachocki), and Anthropic (which the duo resigned from, most recently) are not investing enough in solving for alignment and monitoring, but rather sacrificing those for speed.

But its not just the mirroring of Coxon and Beton's thoughts with Pachocki which is interesting. What I found most valuable is that the the essay’s objectives are a starting point for ethical AI development. Pachocki recognises that

humanity must remain part of any self-improvement loop;
that scaling must be constrained by confidence in safety;
that private laboratories cannot provide all the required oversight;
that the benefits of scientific and economic progress should be widely shared and;
that human agency and the intrinsic value of human life must survive in a world of highly capable machines.

The essay brilliantly embodies the central contradiction now confronting the AI industry. OpenAI says that racing forward at all costs would be absurd, yet it also says that recursive self-improvement is the path required to remain at the research frontier. Developing more capable AI is presented both as the source of danger and as the means of producing the aligned defensive systems needed to control that danger. This may be a genuine dilemma, not hypocrisy. But when a company’s proposed remedy for the risks of ever more powerful AI is the rapid creation of ever more powerful AI, independent scrutiny becomes indispensable.

The Two Ethics of AI

Let us get back to the point that “Ethical AI” can refer to at least two different dimensions.

The first is the business ethics surrounding AI. It covers the behaviour of AI companies while they collect data, train models, obtain investment, recruit researchers, launch products, negotiate with competitors and deal with users. It also covers the behaviour of ordinary companies when they deploy AI in recruitment, lending, insurance, healthcare, surveillance, education, customer service and employment.

This dimension asks whether businesses:

Respect the rights of creators, artists, authors, researchers, copyright holders, customers, employees and other corporations.
Obtain meaningful consent before repurposing personal, confidential or proprietary data.
Explain clearly how user information may be stored, reviewed, used for evaluation or incorporated into model improvement.
Give proper credit for intellectual contributions.
Deal fairly with less powerful users and researchers.
Prevent AI from trampling human rights or intensifying existing social evils such as discrimination, exclusion, exploitation and oppression.
Accept responsibility and provide remedies when AI causes harm.

The second dimension is the ethics of developing advanced AI. This is concerned not only with how a particular product is deployed and affects its users or developers, but with the trajectory of the technology and its consequences for humanity. It asks:

whether a system should be built at all;
whether its capabilities should be increased;
whether autonomous agents should be allowed to participate in creating their successors;
whether safety research is keeping pace with capabilities;
whether development should pause at a dangerous threshold and;
whether a private company has legitimate authority to make decisions whose consequences may be global and irreversible.

These dimensions can be called institutional alignment and technical alignment. Technical alignment concerns whether AI remains controllable and acts consistently with human goals and values. Institutional alignment concerns whether the incentives and actions of developers, deployers, investors and regulators remain consistent with the public interest. A technically aligned model controlled by an unethical institution can still be dangerous. An ethically managed institution deploying an uncontrollable system can be equally dangerous. Responsible AI requires both.

OpenAI and the Mathematicians

The dispute surrounding Tristan Buckmaster and OpenAI does not just expose potentially unethical behaviour, rather exposes the limitation of existing value frameworks and technical controls in identifying when a practice turns unethical. For instance, the public record does not establish that OpenAI deliberately stole the mathematicians’ work. Buckmaster explicitly said that he had not seen OpenAI’s proof, did not know whether his data had been used and was “not accusing anyone of anything”. OpenAI, in turn, said that neither its researchers nor its agents saw Buckmaster and Alpöge’s work before publication and that no specific user data was accessed to solve the problem.

OpenAI nevertheless added a consequential qualification: while it considered the possibility unlikely, it could not rule out that de-identified data derived from the researchers’ use of its products had contributed to improving its models. This opens a completely new dimension for Privacy professionals, because up until now deidentification was considered one of the most easy, and reliable ways to implement (or rather excempt any process from implementation of) privacy principles. This qualification reveals why the ethical issue cannot be reduced to a simple accusation of theft. Several different questions must be separated:

Did an OpenAI employee deliberately open and read a private Codex session?
Did an AI agent retrieve the researchers’ session while working on the problem?
Had content from those sessions already entered a training, fine-tuning, evaluation or model-improvement process?
Could de-identified interaction data have influenced a later model without the model being able to identify its source?
Were the users adequately informed that unpublished research entered into the service might be used in this way?

Saying that no person or agent “looked up” a user’s data answers the first two questions. It does not necessarily answer the others. A model need not retrieve a conversation during inference if information derived from that conversation has already affected its parameters or post-training behaviour.

This difference between access and training is central to digital business ethics - and this is where Privacy enters the chat! Users may understand “private” to mean that their information will not benefit anyone beyond the purpose for which they submitted it. A provider may use “private” more narrowly to mean that the information is not publicly displayed or inspected by humans, yet keep it open to be viewed, interpreted, and used by AI models. Without separate and intelligible explanations of storage, human review, training eligibility, evaluation, retention and deletion, consent cannot be fully informed.

OpenAI’s published policies say that content from individual services may be used to improve models unless the user opts out, while business offerings and its API are excluded from training by default unless an organisation chooses to share data. The ethical concern is not resolved merely because a practice appeared somewhere in a contract or settings menu. Confidential research, legal advice, source code, medical information and trade secrets deserve purpose-specific protection. For sensitive professional work, non-training should be the default rather than an option a user must discover.

And the hitherto considered nuclear option in Privacy, de-identification, also does not completely resolve the issue. It may reduce the chance of linking information to a named person, but unpublished mathematics does not cease to be academically valuable when the mathematician’s name is removed. Privacy, confidentiality, intellectual property and competitive use are overlapping but distinct interests.

The dispute also raised questions of academic attribution and corporate power. Buckmaster alleged that OpenAI researcher Sébastien Bubeck twice proposed removing Alpöge - who worked for Anthropic but was conducting the research independently - from authorship in connection with a proposed arrangement. Buckmaster also described comments he understood as warnings about damage to his career. OpenAI characterised its outreach as an attempt to coordinate releases and recognise the researchers’ priority; Bubeck disputed the allegations about his conduct and later apologised for the “career” remark as a poor choice of words. These are competing accounts of private discussions and should not be presented as adjudicated fact.

Nevertheless, the ethical principles are clear in this case, not ambigous.

Scientific authorship should reflect intellectual contribution, not corporate affiliation.
A researcher’s employment by a competitor cannot by itself justify denying credit.
Nor should a corporation’s control of compute, platforms, publicity and evidence allow it to dictate the historical record.

This is a clear case of a governance problem, and that of asymmetry between corporations and individuals. The researchers cannot inspect OpenAI’s training datasets, internal communications, agent traces or data lineage. Meanwhile, the company possesses nearly all the evidence required to prove or disprove indirect influence. Ethical accountability therefore requires more than asking the company to investigate itself. A trusted independent mechanism must be able to examine relevant records under confidentiality and report whether user-derived material influenced a competing result.

Coxon, Benton and the Endgame

Jacob Coxon and Joe benton’s cases concern the other dimension of AI ethics: the morality of the development trajectory itself. Their warnings were not principally about discrimination in a current chatbot or the mishandling of an individual user’s data. They were about a possible transition from systems that assists human researchers to systems that increasingly conduct the research required to build their own more capable successors; and the apprehension that such self-developing systems may not share the same value system which a human has, or rather may not even recognize 'values' as a necessary component for their existence.

The idea of recursive self-improvement is where AI systems first accelerate coding, experimentation, evaluation and model design and their assistance helps produce even better AI systems, which can then contribute still even more effectively to the next generation. As each cycle becomes faster, the pace of capability development may eventually exceed the capacity of human institutions to evaluate, understand or control it.

Coxon and Benton argue that entering such an “endgame” is a hubristic gamble that should not be initiated from a private company’s internal Slack channel. They call for coordination, non-corporate overarching governance and suggest that avoiding a global race might require costly measures, potentially including a temporary prohibition on further capability improvement.

To be sure, there is no objective experiment capable of establishing a precise probability that superintelligent AI will destroy humanity within a decade. Such estimates are judgments under radical uncertainty, not measurements.

The public responses of other AI researchers are however add significant weight to Coxon and Beton's claims. Evan Hubinger, associated with Anthropic’s alignment work, endorsed the sincerity of Coxon’s concern and gave a personal estimate of more than 10% for human extinction within the next decade. He also claimed that Anthropic was indeed trying its best but did not yet have a plan for aligning superintelligence and was not clearly on track to find one. He also made an essential qualification: he considered the risk from present models low. His concern was about superintelligence emerging from recursive self-improvement. The qualification prevents a legitimate safety debate from becoming sensationalism.

Curiously however, the force of Coxon and Benton's arguments does not even require treating their forecast as proven. A risk does not become ethically irrelevant merely because its probability cannot be measured - particularly when the possible consequence is irreversible and civilisation-wide. As the age-old Risk Assessment maxim goes: Risk = Probability x Impact. If the impact of an event is very high, even low probabilities would result in a high-risk. So while current systems may not be identical or even close in design to the hypothesised future systems Coxon fears, the ethical problem remains that the industry may be deliberately building the path from one to the other before it possesses a reliable means of controlling the destination.

Also significant are remarks made by Samuel Marks (who also works at Anthropic but wrote in a personal capacity): companies continue because of commercial incentives and because each fears that a less responsible competitor will otherwise develop the technology first. And that while present methods can nudge systems towards better behaviour, they cannot yet guarantee robust alignment; and that the emerging plan is partly to use capable AI systems to help align their successors. He also adverted to the open letter signed by many AI developers who desperately want to slow down to figure out how to build AI more safely.

As we can all see, this is a collective-action problem. Every company / laboratory may sincerely prefer a safer world while still believing that unilateral restraint would merely surrender leadership to another company or country. The action that appears rational for each participant - continue accelerating - can produce a result that is irrational for everyone. “We must race because others are racing” is not an ethical justification. It is an admission that voluntary corporate restraint may be structurally insufficient.

Mythos and Foreseeable Misuse

Anthropic’s Mythos-class systems provide a concrete illustration of why capability development, deployment controls and public governance cannot be separated. Mythos demonstrated unusually advanced cybersecurity capabilities, including the capacity to identify and exploit vulnerabilities. Such a system can strengthen defensive security by discovering weaknesses before criminals do, while the same capabilities can dramatically lower the cost and expertise required for sophisticated attacks. The risk posed was so high that Mythos was “immediately banned by the US government because of the devastating effect it could have had”.

To be sure, the news of the ban is a little more nuanced than just a blanked ban - in June 2026, the US government issued an export-control directive requiring Anthropic to suspend access to Mythos 5 and Fable 5 for foreign nationals, reportedly because of national-security concerns and a potential way to bypass Fable’s safeguards. However, because Anthropic claimed it could not operationally comply on a user-by-user basis, because it didn't really have a capability to identify 'foreign nationals' effectively, it ended up disabling access for all customers. The restriction was subsequently lifted on 30 June, after which the models were redeployed under revised access arrangements to select customers only.

This more precise account is actually even more instructive. It demonstrates the instability of governing a powerful dual-use capability after release. Anthropic maintained that the reported jailbreak was narrow and that a complete bypass had not been demonstrated, while the government took a more precautionary view. The episode therefore involved not a simple contest between safety and recklessness, but disagreement over evidence, proportionality, access control and who should decide when residual risk is acceptable.

This also opens AI usage to a larger debate on sovereign use vs restrictions - and whether one country alone should have the jurisdictional power over use of a potentially harmful/dual-use technology. We've been at this same juncture about 75 years ago with Nucelar technology and we have seen how decisions of that era have unfolded today - both positive and negative consequences are clearly evident for how Nuclear technology was regulated in the 50s.

Mythos also shows why “AI as a tool” is becoming an incomplete description. When a system can autonomously discover vulnerabilities, operate computers and pursue multi-step objectives, risk depends not only on the answer it provides but on the actions it can take, the infrastructure it can reach, the credentials it can obtain and its ability to circumvent safeguards. Ethical evaluation must consequently address capability, agency, access and environment together.

Development as Experimentation

Frontier model training is increasingly a form of experimentation. The developers specify an optimisation process but cannot fully predict every capability or behaviour that will emerge. “An Alien Mind” explicitly describes large training runs as experiments whose results sometimes surprise their creators.

The experimental subjects, however, are not confined to consenting laboratory volunteers. They include workers whose professions may be disrupted, citizens exposed to synthetic persuasion, organisations exposed to automated cyberattacks, people affected by algorithmic decisions and future generations who cannot participate in today’s choice. This creates a moral burden closer to the ethics of high-risk scientific research than to the ordinary release of a software update.

In conventional high-risk research, those designing an experiment are not normally allowed to serve as its only ethics committee, safety auditor and final authority. Yet a frontier AI laboratory may simultaneously be:

The designer of the system.
The organisation receiving the commercial and strategic benefits.
The assessor of the risk.
The holder of the evidence.
The author of the safety threshold.
The authority deciding whether the threshold has been met.

Internal safety teams may be sincere and highly competent. Coxon and Benton’s resignations and the responses to them strongly suggest that many are. But sincerity does not eliminate a conflict of interest. Governance must be designed for institutions operating under competitive pressure, not for an ideal world in which good intentions always defeat incentives.

From Principles to Boundaries

Several existing frameworks provide essential foundations. The NIST AI Risk Management Framework describes trustworthy AI as valid and reliable, safe, secure and resilient, accountable and transparent, explainable and interpretable, privacy-enhanced, and fair with harmful bias managed. India's NITI Aayog’s principles for responsible AI similarly emphasise safety and reliability, equality, inclusion and non-discrimination, privacy and security, transparency, accountability and the protection of positive human values. I have earlier alluded to the management system approach advocated by the International Standards Organization with ISO42001.

These principles are valuable, but the controversies show that principles must be converted into operational boundaries.

“Safety” must specify what evidence is required before scaling.
“Privacy” must specify whether confidential prompts can enter training with or without de-identification as a means to circumvent the provision.
“Transparency” must specify what facts an external auditor can verify, but also whether a machine can explain its behaviour in a manner which can be interpreted by a human auditor.
“Accountability” must identify who can stop a deployment and what remedy follows harm. More importantly, institutional accountability needs to be addressed rather than just 'use-case' accountability.
“Human oversight” must mean more than placing a person at the end of an automated process without time, authority or knowledge to intervene. And insitutional oversight cannot be provided by the very corporation developing and racing to develop an even smarter system - it must come from outside and involve the society at large.

The burden of proof should increase with the magnitude and irreversibility of possible harm. For a low-risk productivity feature, post-release correction may be reasonable. For a system capable of autonomous cyber operations, strategic deception or acceleration of successor development, “deploy and patch later” is ethically irrelevant.

The appropriate standard is not zero risk; no useful technology can meet it. The standard should be proportionate assurance: as capability and possible harm grow, developers must provide stronger evidence, more independent scrutiny, tighter containment and clearer stopping conditions. At catastrophic thresholds, unresolved uncertainty should count as a reason to pause, not as permission to continue.

Conclusion: A Shared Ethical Compact

The two controversies begin at different points but converge on a common question: Who is entitled to impose AI’s risks on whom?

In the mathematical dispute, an individual researcher confronts a corporation that controls the platform, the model, the compute and the evidence needed to determine how his information was used. In the superintelligence debate, humanity confronts a small number of corporations that control frontier systems and much of the evidence needed to assess whether continued development is safe.

Neither controversy can be resolved by corporate assurances alone. Nor can AI ethics be delegated entirely to regulators, researchers or users. Responsibility follows power, knowledge and capacity to prevent harm. Different participants therefore have different ethical duties.

Below I am proposing what I think are clear areas of AI Governance which need to be incorportated by various agencies involved in this field. Think of these as a wishlist from someone who considers Ethics to be a topic which determines whether humanity survives or annhilates itself with its own progress.

Guiding Principles for AI Companies

Separate service delivery from model training. Personal, confidential and proprietary content should not enter training merely because it was submitted to obtain a service. Sensitive professional modes should be non-training by default.
Make consent meaningful. Explain storage, human review, training, evaluation, retention, sharing and deletion separately, using language ordinary users can understand.
Build verifiable data lineage. Maintain records capable of showing which sources entered training, fine-tuning and evaluation, with independent confidential audits where disputes arise.
Respect intellectual contribution. Attribution must reflect contribution rather than employment, corporate rivalry or bargaining power.
Publish serious incidents. Disclose material safety failures, jailbreaks and unexpected autonomous actions promptly, while protecting details that would enable misuse.
Create binding safety gates. Predefine capability thresholds at which scaling or deployment stops unless independent evaluations demonstrate adequate control.
Protect dissent. Safety staff and whistleblowers must be able to raise concerns without retaliation, suppression or career threats.
Align executive incentives. Leadership compensation and performance measures should reward safety, privacy and responsible conduct, not capability and revenue alone.
Accept remedy as part of accountability. When harm occurs, provide investigation, correction, appeal, attribution and compensation rather than relying on disclaimers.

Guiding Principles for Developers and Researchers

Treat safety as part of technical excellence. A model that is capable but uncontrollable is not a successful engineering outcome.
Define red lines before approaching them. Researchers should identify in advance the capabilities or behaviours that would require stopping, containment or escalation.
Document uncertainty honestly. Limitations, anomalous behaviour and failed evaluations should be preserved and communicated, not averaged away by impressive benchmark scores.
Practise responsible disclosure. Dangerous capabilities and vulnerabilities require controlled reporting that supports defence without providing a misuse manual.
Reject divided accountability. “Management decided” does not erase the ethical agency of the people designing and training a system.
Preserve reproducibility and attribution. AI-assisted discoveries should identify human and machine contributions, data provenance and the limits of formal verification.
Exercise the right to refuse. Researchers should be professionally protected when they decline work that crosses a defensible ethical boundary.
Engage beyond the laboratory. Technical experts must explain emerging risks to policymakers and society without exaggeration, minimisation or marketing language.

Guiding Principles for Businesses Using AI

Own the outcome. A company remains responsible for a decision made with AI; blaming the vendor or algorithm is not accountability.
Use AI only for a defined purpose. Deployments should have documented objectives, owners, affected stakeholders, risk classifications and expiry or review dates.
Apply data minimisation. Do not place customer, employee or corporate information into an AI service unless the purpose, contract and technical controls justify it.
Test for disparate impact. Systems affecting employment, credit, insurance, healthcare, education or public access must be evaluated across relevant demographic and social groups.
Keep human oversight real. Reviewers need competence, sufficient information, time to intervene and authority to overturn an AI decision.
Provide notice and appeal. People should know when AI materially affects them and should have access to an effective human grievance mechanism.
Monitor after deployment. Accuracy, bias, security and appropriateness can change as data, models and operating environments change.
Prevent automation from becoming moral outsourcing. Efficiency does not justify decisions that the organisation would consider unethical if made directly by a person.

Guiding Principles for Governments

Regulate according to capability and impact. Obligations should rise with autonomy, access, scale, dual-use capability and potential severity of harm.
Require independent evaluations. Frontier systems should undergo confidential testing by competent external bodies before crossing high-risk development or deployment thresholds.
Mandate incident reporting. Serious AI security and safety events should be reported through protected channels with proportionate public transparency.
Protect rights and competition together. Governance should constrain reckless development without entrenching a small cartel of incumbent laboratories.
Coordinate internationally. Compute-intensive training, model weights and digital deployment cross borders; catastrophic-risk controls cannot remain purely national.
Create lawful pause mechanisms. Authorities need narrowly defined, reviewable powers to delay scaling or deployment when credible evidence indicates severe and imminent risk.
Protect researchers and whistleblowers. Employees must be able to disclose safety concerns to designated authorities without breaching legitimate security obligations.
Use public procurement responsibly. Governments should demand auditability, data protection, accessibility, fairness and human review in systems purchased for public use.
Build regulatory competence. Oversight bodies require technical expertise, secure evaluation infrastructure and independence from both political pressure and corporate capture.

Guiding Principles for Individuals

Treat prompts as disclosures. Do not enter information into an AI system unless comfortable with the applicable retention, access and training terms.
Verify outputs. AI fluency and confidence do not establish truth, expertise or moral authority.
Respect creators and sources. Do not use AI to disguise plagiarism, misappropriate confidential work or avoid attribution.
Preserve human judgment. AI can advise and assist, but consequential moral decisions should not be surrendered to a system that cannot bear responsibility.
Avoid harmful amplification. Do not use AI to produce deception, harassment, discrimination, impersonation or manipulation at scale.
Maintain intellectual agency. Use AI to extend understanding rather than replace curiosity, learning and independent thought.
Demand better governance. Users are also developers, citizens, employees, customers and shareholders; they can reward responsible providers and ask institutions for evidence rather than slogans.

Needless to say that above list is neither exhaustive, nor has any sense of finality to it. In fact, I can claim to be at best at the periphery of the magnum opus of humanity's romance with AI, and my own knowledge is by far limited. However, what I have tried to do in the past week since reading 'An Alien Mind' and ruminating on these new events as they unfold, is put deep thought into what this means for us and put in my best abilities to penetrate to the core of this multi-layered challenge to come up with what I feel might help.

Asimov imagined morality embedded inside the machine. The age of frontier AI requires something broader: ethical constraints embedded in machines, corporations, markets, professional cultures and governments simultaneously.

The task before us is not merely to create an AI that follows instructions (which Pachocki calls goal alignment). It is to create systems capable of serving humanity without diminishing human rights, dignity, autonomy or control (value alignment). And it is to build institutions that can resist the temptation to sacrifice those values for speed, competitive advantage or technological prestige.

The mathematical dispute asks whether researchers can trust an AI company with their most valuable ideas. Coxon and Benton’s resignations ask whether humanity can trust the AI industry with decisions about its collective future. The questions differ in scale, but the moral test is the same, to quote the famous dialogue from the Spiderman movies: with great power comes great responsibility.

We may (and I hope we will!) eventually succeed in aligning intelligent machines with human values. That endeavour must start with organisations who are creating those machines demonstrating that their own behaviour is aligned with the interests of humanity.

Footnote: If you're GenZ or younger, or a non-geek, you may be wondering about the image at the top - this is a still from the movie 'The Matrix Reloaded' which shows the Architect explaining to Neo about how he built the Matrix to trick humanity into becoming mere battery cells which generate power for machines. If you haven't, I implore you to watch the entire Matrix series, but especially the speech by the Architect to appreciate the distopian outcome we might end up with if we do not regulate machines which have the potential to become smarter than us.

भारत की स्वतंत्रता का अंतिम निर्णायक क्षण: आज़ाद हिंद फौज, लाल किला मुकदमा और बॉम्बे नेवल म्यूटिनी

2026-08-15T01:25:00.000+05:30

अंग्रेज़ों की कालोनियों के स्वतंत्रता का समय चित्र

इंपीरियलिज़्म या साम्राज्यवाद की दुनिया में ब्रिटेन को सबसे बड़ी शक्ति माना जाता था, जिसका साम्राज्य अफ्रीका के तट से लेकर इंडोनेशिया और उससे आगे ऑस्ट्रेलिया तक फैला हुआ था। साउथ अफ्रीका जहां महात्मा गांधी ने रंगभेद के खिलाफ अपना पहला सत्याग्रह किया, से लेकर ऑस्ट्रेलिया, जहां आज भी औपचारिक रूप से ब्रिटिश राजसत्ता को अपना मुखिया मानता है, जो उस साम्राज्य की दीर्घकालिक विरासत को दिखाता है।

द्वितीय विश्व युद्ध के बाद ब्रिटेन को यह एहसास होने लगा कि उसकी साम्राज्यवादी शक्ति क्षीण होती जा रही है और दूर-दूर फैली कॉलोनियों को चलाने की लागत उसके लिए अत्यधिक बोझ बन गई है। इसी कारण ब्रिटेन ने क्रमशः अपनी विभिन्न कॉलोनियों को स्वतंत्रता देना शुरू किया, पर इस क्रम में भारत को एक विशिष्ट और अग्रणी स्थान मिला। भारत ब्रिटिश साम्राज्य की सबसे बड़ी और सबसे महत्वपूर्ण कॉलोनी होने के बावजूद सबसे पहले स्वाधीन हुआ, जबकि अन्य कॉलोनियाँ 1960 के दशक से लेकर 1970 और कुछ तो 1980 के दशक तक ब्रिटिश शासन के अधीन रहीं। तो ऐसा क्या कारण था कि सबसे बड़ी और सबसे महत्वपूर्ण कॉलोनी होने के बावजूद, भारत को अपेक्षा से पहले स्वतंत्रता मिली ?

सामान्यतः यह माना जाता है कि 1942 का महात्मा गांधी के नेतृत्व वाला भारत छोड़ो आंदोलन (Quit India Movement) भारत को स्वतंत्रता दिलाने का मुख्य कारण था। निस्संदेह, कांग्रेस के नेतृत्व में चले अहिंसक आंदोलनों और जन-आंदोलनों की भूमिका अत्यंत महत्वपूर्ण रही, परंतु केवल यही कारण भारत को अन्य कॉलोनियों की तुलना में जल्दी स्वतंत्रता मिलने की पूरी व्याख्या नहीं करता।

एक गहरा, अपेक्षाकृत कम चर्चा में आने वाला कारण 1945 के बाद भारतीय सेना की कुछ टुकड़ियों में उत्पन्न हुई सैन्य हलचलें और विद्रोह की भावना है। द्वितीय विश्व युद्ध के अंत के बाद भारतीय सैनिकों के व्यवहार और दृष्टिकोण में आए परिवर्तन ने ब्रिटिश शासन के आत्मविश्वास को गंभीर रूप से हिलाया और उन्हें यह सोचने पर मजबूर किया कि यदि सेना उनके आदेशों से विमुख हो जाती है तो साम्राज्य को टिकाए रखना लगभग असंभव हो जाएगा। यह कैसे हुआ इसे समझने के लिए 1942 के एक और घटनाक्रम को जानते हैं।

हम जानते हैं कि 1941 में ही नेताजी सुभाष चंद्र बोस ने अंग्रेज़ों चकमा देकर उनकी नजरबंदी (house arrest) से पलायन किया और अफगानिस्तान के रास्ते यूरोप पहुँचे। वहाँ उन्होंने हिटलर से मुलाकात की और भारत की स्वतंत्रता के लिए एक सैन्य बल - आज़ाद हिंद फौज - के गठन में सहयोग की मांग की। हिटलर का रवैया नस्लभेद और रंगभेद से प्रेरित होने के कारण वह एक अश्वेत (brown) सुभाष चंद्र बोस को पूरी तरह खुले दिल से सहयोग देने को तैयार नहीं था, किंतु ब्रिटेन के प्रति शत्रुता के चलते उसने सीमित सहयोग अवश्य दिया और अपनी एक पनडुब्बी से उन्हें जापान भेजने की व्यवस्था की।

वहीं दूसरी ओर 1941 से भारतीय फ़ौज (जो कि उस समय अंग्रज़ों की और से लड़ रही थी) की कुछ टुकड़ियां सिंगापुर, मलेशिया और बर्मा में तैनात थीं। उन्हें जापानी हमले में मुँह की खानी पड़ी और उनमें से कईं सानिकों को युद्धबंदी बना लिया गया। 1942 आते आते मोहन सिंह, प्रीतम सिंह और राश बिहारी बोस के नितृत्व में इन युद्ध बंदियों और इन देशों में स्थित भारतीय मूल के निर्वासित (exiled) रहिवासियों ने मिल कर एक फ़ौज का निर्माण कर लिया था।

1943 में जापान पहुँचकर नेताजी ने इन सबके सहयोग से भारतीय युद्धबंदियों और अन्य भारतोयों को संगठित कर आज़ाद हिंद फौज की स्थापना की। इस प्रक्रिया में लंबे समय से ऐसे प्रयास करते रहे रास बिहारी बोस की भूमिका भी अत्यंत अहम रही, जिनके आधार पर आज़ाद हिंद फौज का सैन्य ढांचा तैयार हुआ और यह फौज भारत की दिशा में अग्रसर हुई।

आज़ाद हिंद फौज की लड़ाई, हार, युद्धबंदी और लाल किला मुकदमे

आज़ाद हिंद फौज ने बर्मा की दिशा से आते हुए भारत के पूर्वोत्तर क्षेत्रों की ओर सैन्य अभियान चलाया और ब्रिटिश शासन के विरुद्ध कई हमले किए। परंतु जर्मनी और उसके सहयोगी देशों तथा जापान की पराजय के साथ ही द्वितीय विश्व युद्ध का समीकरण बदल गया। जापान ने शायद द्वितीय विश्व युद्ध की सबसे बडी कीमत चुकाई जब हिरोशिमा और फिर नागासाकी शहरों पर अणुबम से हमला हुआ।

जापान की हार के फलस्वरूप आज़ाद हिंद फौज के अनेक सैनिकों को भारतीय सेना द्वारा वापस युद्धबंदी बना लिया गया और उन पर देशद्रोह का इलज़ाम लगाया गया। लेकिन क्योंकि वे सैनिक जापान की ओर से नहीं लड़ रहे थे, तथापि उनका उद्देश्य भारत की स्वतंत्रता था, इसलिए भारतीय जनमानस उन्हें देशद्रोही नहीं, बल्कि देशभक्त मानता था।

ब्रिटिश सरकार की दृष्टि में हालांकि ये सैनिक देशद्रोही थे। भविष्य में कोई दूसरी टुकड़ी इस प्रकार की "देशद्रोह की हिमाकत" न करे, इस उद्देश्य से अंग्रेजों ने तय किया कि आज़ाद हिंद फौज के अधिकारियों पर सार्वजनिक मुकदमा चलाया जाएगा, ताकि उन्हें मिसाल बनाकर भय का माहौल पैदा किया जा सके। इसी कारण दिल्ली के लाल किले को इस मुकदमे का स्थान चुना गया, जो ब्रिटिश रणनीति की बड़ी भूल साबित हुई। मुकदमा चलाना पहली भूल थी, और उसे अत्यंत सार्वजनिक, व्यापक और दिखावटी तरीके से आयोजित करना दूसरी और भी बड़ी भूल साबित हुई।

इन मुकदमों में आज़ाद हिंद फौज के कमांडर-इन-चीफ सहित कई वरिष्ठ अधिकारी आरोपित किए गए, जिनमें जनरल शाहनवाज़ हुसैन, जनरल कुंदन लाल सहगल और जनरल ग़ुरबक्ष सिंह ढिल्लों प्रमुख अभियुक्तों में से थे। पंडित जवाहरलाल नेहरू और भारत के कई नामचीन वकीलों ने इन अभियुक्तों की ओर से बचाव किया। मुकदमे की कार्यवाही देश भर में फैली और इससे अंग्रेजों के प्रति पहले से मौजूद रोष और अधिक प्रबल हो गया - न केवल आम नागरिकों के मन में, बल्कि सैन्य बलों के सिपाहियों के मन में भी।

बॉम्बे नेवल डॉकयार्ड / रॉयल इंडियन नेवी म्यूटिनी

आज़ाद हिंद फौज के मुकदमों से उपजा आक्रोश केवल न्यायालयों और अखबारों तक सीमित नहीं रहा, बल्कि भारतीय सेना के जवानों और नौसैनिकों के मन में भी फैल गया। इसी पृष्ठभूमि में कहानी हमें उस स्थान पर ले जाती है जिसे आज मुंबई का नेवल डॉकयार्ड कहा जाता है और जिसे उस समय बॉम्बे डॉकयार्ड के नाम से जाना जाता था।

आज के मुंबई में काला घोड़ा क्षेत्र एक प्रसिद्ध कला उत्सव और सांस्कृतिक केंद्र के रूप में जाना जाता है। वहाँ से समुद्र की ओर सीधे बढ़ने पर "लायंस गेट" नामक द्वार मिलता है, जो सदैव बंद रहता है क्योंकि वह भारतीय नौसेना के डॉक का प्रवेश द्वार है। उसके आसपास और भी द्वार हैं जो सभी बंद रहते हैं, क्योंकि पूरा क्षेत्र भारतीय नौसेना के नियंत्रण में आने वाला सैन्य डॉकयार्ड है। इसके आगे सिविलियन डॉक भी हैं जहाँ व्यापारी और यात्री जहाज रुकते हैं, पर मुख्य भाग सैन्य उपयोग के लिए ही था और है।

इसी बॉम्बे डॉकयार्ड में भारतीय नौसेना के जवानों और कर्मियों ने सबसे पहले विद्रोह का बिगुल बजाया - यही रॉयल इंडियन नेवी म्यूटिनी या बॉम्बे नेवल म्यूटिनी थी। कुछ ही दिनों में यह विद्रोह मुंबई से पश्चिम ओर करांची और पूर्व की ओर कलकत्ता तक फ़ैल गया। नौसैनिकों के इस विद्रोह ने अंग्रेजों को भयभीत कर दिया, क्योंकि उन्हें एहसास हुआ कि यदि भारतीय सेना और नौसेना की अन्य टुकड़ियाँ भी इसी प्रकार विद्रोह करने लगीं तो वे योजनाबद्ध तरीके से भारत छोड़ने की बजाय अपमानजनक रूप से खदेड़े जाएँगे और उनका साम्राज्य पूरी तरह ढह जाएगा।

फरवरी 1946 की म्यूटिनी और अंतरिम सरकार का गठन

फरवरी 1946 में बॉम्बे नेवल म्यूटिनी भले ही सैन्य दृष्टि से पूर्णतः सफल नहीं हो सकी, पर उसके राजनीतिक और मनोवैज्ञानिक प्रभाव अत्यंत गहरे थे। इस विद्रोह ने ब्रिटिश शासकों को स्पष्ट संकेत दे दिया कि भारतीय सेना अब पूरी तरह उनके नियंत्रण में नहीं है और किसी व्यापक विद्रोह की स्थिति में उन्हें भारत से भागने पर मजबूर होना पड़ सकता है।

इसी भय और वास्तविकता के संयुक्त दबाव में अंग्रेजों ने तुरंत एक अंतरिम सरकार के गठन के कदम उठाए। कॉन्स्टिट्यूएंट असेंबली के सदस्यों से कहा गया कि वे एक अंतरिम सरकार चुनें, जिसके तहत जवाहरलाल नेहरू को अंतरिम प्रधानमंत्री बनाया गया और सरदार पटेल को उपप्रधान मंत्री। लॉर्ड माउंटबेटन को भारत का आखिरी गवर्नर जनरल घोषित किया गया और विभाजन तथा स्वतंत्रता की दिशा में निर्णायक कदम उठाए गए।

भारत को अगस्त 1947 में स्वतंत्रता मिली, जबकि संविधान तैयार होते-होते 1951 तक का समय लगा। ब्रिटिश साम्राज्य की अन्य कॉलोनियों को इससे काफी बाद स्वतंत्रता मिली, पर भारत को अपेक्षाकृत जल्दी स्वाधीनता इसलिए मिली कि यहाँ केवल जनांदोलन नहीं, बल्कि सेना और नौसेना के भीतर से भी विद्रोह की आवाज़ उठ चुकी थी - जिसकी शुरुआत आज़ाद हिंद फौज और उसके मुकदमों से प्रेरित बॉम्बे नेवल म्यूटिनी से होती है।

यहाँ यह लिखना उल्लेखनीय होगा कि युद्ध समाप्ती पर आज़ाद हिंद फौज की कहानी ब्रिटिश साम्राज्य के लिए इतने भड़काऊ और विस्फोटक स्वरूप की मानी गई कि पूरे साम्राज्य में व्यापक विद्रोह और बगावतों के भय से ब्रिटिश सरकार ने बीबीसी (British Broadcasting Corporation) को उनके बारे में कोई प्रसारण करने से सख्ती से रोक दिया। वियतनाम और इंडोनेशिया में डच तथा फ्रांसीसी शासन की पुनर्स्थापना के लिए भारतीय सैनिकों का उपयोग किए जाने से भारतीय सेना में पहले से बढ़ रही नाराज़गी और असंतोष को और तेज़ बढ़ावा मिला। आज़ाद हिंद फौज से प्रेरित हड़तालें और विरोध-आंदोलन ब्रिटेन की दक्षिण-पूर्व एशियाई कॉलोनियों में भी जगह-जगह उभरने लगे, और मलेशिआ व सिंगापुर में मौजूद पूर्व INA सैनिकों ने युद्धोत्तर पूर्वी एशिया की इन कॉलोनियों में ब्रिटिश सत्ता को चुनौती देने के लिए अपनी उसी संघर्ष-चेतना और अनुभवों को आधार बनाया।

"लास्ट नेल इन द कॉफिन" और स्वतंत्रता का स्वरूप

गांधी जी का 1942 का भारत छोड़ो आंदोलन निश्चित रूप से भारत की स्वतंत्रता के संघर्ष में अत्यंत महत्वपूर्ण अध्याय है और उसकी भूमिका को कम करके नहीं आंका जा सकता। परंतु यदि हम उस अंतिम निर्णायक प्रहार की तलाश करें जिसने ब्रिटिश साम्राज्य के ताबूत में "लास्ट नेल इन द कॉफिन" का काम किया, तो वह नेताजी सुभाष चंद्र बोस की आज़ाद हिंद फौज के खिलाफ चलाए गए लाल किला मुकदमे और उनसे प्रेरित रॉयल इंडियन नेवी म्यूटिनी के रूप में दिखाई देता है।

इन मुकदमों ने जनता के मन में आज़ाद हिंद फौज के सैनिकों को शहीद, नेता और नायक के रूप में स्थापित किया, और बॉम्बे नेवल म्यूटिनी ने यह संदेश दिया कि भारतीय सैनिक ऐसी सरकार का समर्थन नहीं करेंगे जो देशभक्तों को देशद्रोही मानकर सज़ा देना चाहती है। इस समूची प्रक्रिया ने ब्रिटेन को यह स्वीकार करने पर मजबूर किया कि भारत की स्वतंत्रता अब टाली नहीं जा सकती। इसीलिए कहा जा सकता है कि भारत ने अपनी स्वतंत्रता केवल प्राप्त नहीं की, बल्कि उसे संघर्ष, बलिदान और विद्रोह के माध्यम से छीन कर हासिल किया - यह स्वतंत्रता हमें किसी ने सहज रूप से हथेली पर रखकर नहीं दी।

The Gandhian in a B-school

2026-06-30T07:30:00.000+05:30

In June 2004, as a young student at what was then NITIE Mumbai (now IIM Mumbai), I stood on the streets of Mumbai with simple educational toys in my hand, a modest sales target, and a very unconventional assignment from one unconventional professor: Dr. T. Prasad, fondly known today as “Mandi Sir” was debuting the very first edition of Mandi. What looked like a freak, even frivolous, street‑selling exercise that day has since grown into a nationwide movement in entrepreneurial, Gandhian, hands‑on learning - the Mandi and Maha Mandi pedagogy.

Two decades later, as Dr. T. Prasad retires from IIM Mumbai, it feels the right moment to pause, reflect, and celebrate the revolution he quietly sparked and the thousands of students and entrepreneurs he has shaped along the way.

From tailor to “Mandi Sir”

Dr. Prasad’s own journey adds extraordinary moral weight to his message. In various talks and interviews, he has openly shared how he funded his own education by doing tailoring work on weekends, carrying his experience of dignity of labour into the classroom as a core value rather than just an anecdote. This lived understanding of work, frugality, and self‑reliance is what makes his advocacy of “Earn While You Learn” and Gandhian entrepreneurship authentic, not theoretical.

Over the years, that philosophy evolved into a distinctive pedagogical brand: Mandi, Maha Mandi, Gandhi Mandi, Ambedkar Mandi and other variants that place students directly in the marketplace, selling meaningful products and discovering management principles through real transactions.

Mandi: Learning by the hand, not just the head

At its heart, Mandi started as a simple but radical idea. Students were sent out onto the streets to sell low‑cost, educational toys and learning aids to everyday families. In a single day, they experienced the full cycle of marketing and personal selling: identifying prospects, pitching value, handling objections, closing sales, and reflecting on what worked and what did not.

The toys themselves - such as Jodo and Tangram (back then) - were designed to teach concepts in mathematics, chemistry, and problem‑solving, so students are not just selling products but advocating for better learning for children. The field experience was then expected to be integrated back into the curriculum, connecting what happened on the street to courses in marketing, managerial economics, consumer behaviour, communication, and organisational behaviour.

What began as an experiment got support from other faculty over the years. Initially it was only Dr Prasad who gave credits for participation and performance in Mandi, but later, as the pedagogy got recognized by other professors, every course had credits related to Mandi. The event also became a magnet for attracting celebrities to IIM Mumbai, combining academic learning with a festival‑like socio‑entrepreneurial experience every year. Gradually participation scaled from IIM Mumbai to more than a thousand participants, including students from other institutions such as IIT Bombay’s SJMSOM, KJ Somaiya, and NMIMS, turning streets into live laboratories of management education.

Beyond Mumbai and educational toys - Gandhi Mandi, Ambedkar Mandi and the power of ideas

One of Dr. Prasad’s most powerful innovations was to extend this model beyond toys to ideas, starting with Gandhi Mandi. In this variant, students sell Mahatma Gandhi’s autobiography, turning a simple book assignment into a live exercise in disseminating Gandhian thought while earning a modest commission per copy. Inspired by this success, similar experiments such as Ambedkar Mandi - selling Dr. B. R. Ambedkar’s writings and biographies - have emerged, taking the same “learning by hand” philosophy into the realm of social justice, constitutional values, and critical thought. These models show that Mandi is not just about learning sales; it is about making the sale itself a vehicle for spreading transformative ideas across metros, tier‑1/2 towns, and smaller towns and villages.

Institutionalising student entrepreneurship

Dr. Prasad did not stop at events. He has been instrumental in establishing the NITIE Centre for Student Startups (later referred to as the NITIE Centre for Student Enterprises), supported by the DST–NSTEDB, Government of India, to turn student assignments into structured entrepreneurial ventures.

Across more than two decades of teaching, Dr. Prasad has consistently positioned students as the best candidates to start companies, proudly noting that hundreds of those who embraced “learning by earning” have gone on to become entrepreneurs. His faculty profile and public talks highlight a remarkable list of ventures led by his former students — from unicorns like Polygon, DealShare, and Square Yards to startups such as Cashify, Vaave, Lal10, Magenta and many others - all of which he cites not as personal accolades but as proof that experiential pedagogy can translate into real enterprises.

On social media, under the “Mandi Sir Start Ups” banner, he regularly celebrates alumni founders, shares their interviews and podcasts, and uses their stories as inspiration for current batches, creating a living archive of entrepreneurial journeys emerging from IIM Mumbai. His encouragement played a direct role in my own decision to walk the path of entrepreneurship; knowing that a professor believed in students registering companies while still on campus made it far easier to take that leap and treat experimentation as a legitimate, even essential, part of my career.

Recognition, podcasts and the broader discourse on education

In recent years, Dr. Prasad has taken the Mandi story to a wider audience through multiple podcasts and media appearances. Long‑form conversations delve into flaws in the Indian education system, the need for practical, value‑centric learning, and real case studies of students. These dialogues have helped reposition Mandi not just as a quirky campus event, but as a serious framework for education reform and entrepreneurship education in India based on the ideas established by the Father of the Nation.

He has repeatedly argued that Gandhi saw entrepreneurship as integral to education, famously advocating for charkhas in schools so students could contribute to funding their own learning. In this spirit, Mandi’s core motto - “Learning expenses are earned in learning, through learning and for learning” - challenges the idea that education must always be financed; instead, it can be self‑respecting and productive from within the student community itself.

A personal note of gratitude

I must confess that when I heard about the idea of Mandi, I was not very enthused. Here I was coming to study “Management”, expecting to be placed with an MNC at the end of the course, being told to sell like a door-to-door salesman! It wasn’t until much later after the experience did I realize the value of Mandi. Mandi, as it grew on me over the years, was an early masterclass in customer empathy, courage, and humility. Selling on the street strips away titles and comfort zones. You learn to listen, adapt your pitch in real time, and accept rejection with grace. Those lessons have grown over me across my later journey in entrepreneurship, product development, and business strategy - domains that, on the surface, look far removed from street selling, but at their core still require deep listening and value creation for real people.

Dr. Prasad created a culture in which students (including many from my batch) felt encouraged to try unconventional ideas, test business models, and see themselves as entrepreneurs long before “startup” became a mainstream aspiration on campus. His relentless focus on student‑led ventures and his willingness to stand behind unorthodox experiments have inspired countless alumni to build, not just to be placed.

Looking ahead: Mandi beyond the campus

As Dr. T. Prasad steps into retirement from IIM Mumbai, I sincerely hope it is only a transition in institutional role, not in mission. The Mandi model - learning by the hand rather than only by the head - is exactly what India needs at scale: in metros and tier‑1 cities, yes, but also in tier‑2 towns, smaller districts, and villages where young people are hungry for opportunity but often disconnected from formal networks of entrepreneurship.

If post‑retirement Mandi evolves into a broader movement - partnering with colleges, NGOs, self‑help groups, and local governments - it can catalyse an entirely new wave of entrepreneurship‑led growth for India: grounded in dignity of labour, frugal innovation, and the courage to step onto the street with an idea, a product, and a story. In celebrating Dr. Prasad’s tenure at IIM Mumbai, I also want to celebrate the future that his pedagogy points to - a future where millions of students earn while they learn, serve while they learn, and, in doing so, help build a more self‑reliant and just India.

Thank you, 🙏🏽 Mandi Sir, for trusting your students with the street, with responsibility, and with the power of Gandhian thought. As one of the many who learnt from that first 2004 experiment, I wish you strength, health, and relentless energy to keep expanding the Mandi revolution in the years to come.

🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽

I am proud of my heritage - hopefully for the right reasons!

2026-06-28T22:42:50.462+05:30

"The Maratha Military Landscapes of India have been inscribed on the UNESCO World Heritage List as India's 44th World Heritage property."

🔴 BREAKING!

New inscription on the @UNESCO #WorldHeritage List: Maratha Military Landscapes of India, #India 🇮🇳.

➡️ https://t.co/seTyyVu3sT #47WHC pic.twitter.com/mEpa6RWLRx
— UNESCO 🏛️ #Education #Sciences #Culture 🇺🇳 (@UNESCO) July 11, 2025

That simple announcement from UNESCO filled me with immense pride. It is not every day that the world pauses to recognize a part of our collective history, and this recognition is long overdue.

As someone who now lives in Mumbai, and proudly traces his roots to Maharashtra, these forts are not just monuments on a map. They are familiar silhouettes on the Sahyadri skyline, stories narrated by grandparents, and enduring symbols of courage and resilience. They have shaped the identity of this region for centuries.

Yet, alongside that pride, I feel a sense of disappointment.

Within hours of UNESCO's announcement, social media and political discourse had reduced this achievement into yet another contest of identity and ownership. Instead of celebrating India's layered civilizational heritage, the conversation quickly became one-dimensional: "Maratha pride", political point-scoring, and attempts to appropriate an achievement that is, in truth, far richer and far older than any single dynasty.

The irony is that these forts themselves tell us exactly the opposite story.

A Heritage Built Across Centuries

The Maratha Empire occupies a glorious chapter in Indian history. Emerging in the seventeenth century under Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj, the Marathas challenged what was then the most powerful empire in the Indian subcontinent, and more importantly challenged an unjust opportunistic emperor who not only was unfair to his subjects, but a disgrace to the ethos and heritage of his own dynasty. Having bled the Mughal empire with a thousand cuts, the Maratha empire (led by Peshwas subsequently) expanded across much of India over the following century, eventually replacing the Mughal Empire as the dominant political power until the British conquest.

Nevertheless, the forts that UNESCO has recognized did not suddenly appear during the Maratha period. Many of them existed centuries earlier. Their origins stretch across successive dynasties including the Shilaharas, the Yadavas of Devagiri, the Bahmani Sultanate, the Nizam Shahis of Ahmadnagar, the Adil Shahis of Bijapur, and perhaps even earlier hill fortifications whose precise origins remain archaeologically uncertain. Over hundreds of years they were expanded, rebuilt, repaired, abandoned, recaptured and strengthened. What UNESCO has recognized is not simply a collection of forts, but a military landscape that evolved over nearly a millennium before reaching its strategic zenith under the Marathas.

Fort	Likely Original Builders	Pre-Maratha Use	Maratha Period Role
Rajgad	Possibly Satavahanas (2nd century BCE–Early 3rd century CE) / Yadavas	Minor hill fort	Shivaji's capital (1648–1670)
Torna	13th-century Yadava fortification	Under Adilshahi control	First fort captured by Shivaji (1646)
Raigad	Originally called Rairi (Bahmani / Ahmadnagar era -1347–1527)	Adilshahi garrison	Shivaji’s coronation site (1674)
Sinhagad	Likely Yadava [1187–1317] or earlier (called Kondhana)	Controlled by Mughals and Adilshahis	Captured by Tanaji Malusare in 1670
Pratapgad	Built by Shivaji in 1656	—	New fort, site of Afzal Khan encounter
Lohagad	Satavahana-period [2nd century BCE–Early 3rd century CE] caves nearby indicate antiquity	Used by Bahmanis & Mughals	Used by Shivaji to store loot
Purandar	Yadava period [1187–1317] origin	Fortified by Mughals & Adilshahis	Crucial in Treaty of Purandar (1665)
Sindhudurg	Built by Shivaji (1664)	—	Naval base and sea fort
Vijaydurg	Shilahara [800–1212] / Bahmani [1347–1527] origin	Used by Portuguese briefly	Fortified into a naval stronghold
Kolaba (Alibag)	Possibly pre-Shivaji coastal watchpost	—	Built/expanded by Shivaji (1680)
Kasa (Padmadurg)	—	—	Built by Shivaji as a check on Janjira
Suvarnadurg	Possibly Yadava [1187–1317] / Bahmani [1347–1527]	Strategic coastal fort	Captured and strengthened by Shivaji

The Forgotten Builders

One unfortunate aspect of public discourse is our tendency to remember the last great occupants of a monument while forgetting those who first imagined and built it. Long before Shivaji Maharaj, rulers across the Deccan had already mastered the art of mountain fortification. Constructing a hill fort in the rugged Sahyadris was no ordinary feat. Massive basalt cliffs had to be carved by hand. Rainwater harvesting systems were engineered to sustain thousands of inhabitants through prolonged sieges. Granaries, reservoirs, escape passages, watchtowers and defensive gateways were integrated into the natural terrain with astonishing precision. These were engineering marvels.

Unlike castles in Europe built upon relatively accessible plains, many Deccan forts were literally sculpted into mountains. Every approach route was designed to expose attackers. Every gateway forced invading armies to slow down. Every bastion commanded strategic views across valleys and trade routes. This knowledge did not emerge overnight. It represents centuries of accumulated engineering experience passed from one generation of builders to another, irrespective of who happened to rule the region at any particular time.

When we admire Rajgad, Lohagad, Raigad or Panhala, we should also spare a thought for the anonymous architects, masons, military engineers and labourers whose names history has forgotten but whose work continues to endure after almost a thousand years. Their legacy deserves remembrance no less than that of the kings who later occupied these forts.

The Genius of Shivaji Maharaj

Recognizing that these forts predated the Marathas does not diminish Shivaji Maharaj's greatness. If anything, it enhances it. History often celebrates those who build monuments. It should equally celebrate those who understand how to use them.

Shivaji's greatest military innovation was not constructing hundreds of forts from scratch - it was recognizing that the existing network of hill forts, if systematically restored, interconnected and supplied, could fundamentally change the nature of warfare in India. Against the vast armies of Aurangzeb, conventional battle would have been suicidal. Instead, Shivaji transformed geography itself into a weapon. The forts became supply depots, administrative centres, intelligence hubs, communication networks and secure refuges from which highly mobile forces could strike and disappear.

This was military thinking of extraordinary sophistication. The Mughal Empire possessed larger armies, greater wealth and superior numerical strength. The Marathas possessed terrain, mobility, logistics and strategy. They changed the rules of the game.

UNESCO's recognition itself emphasizes this aspect - the forts represent a sophisticated military landscape whose strength lay not merely in individual fortifications but in the strategic network they collectively formed.

That achievement belongs squarely to Shivaji Maharaj and the generations of Maratha commanders who followed him. It deserves every bit of admiration it receives.

Pride Does Not Require Historical Simplification

Modern politics often seeks simple stories but History rarely provides them. Every civilization inherits from those before it. The Marathas inherited forts from earlier dynasties. The British inherited administrative institutions from the Marathas and Independent India inherited institutions from both. [Its no coincidence that the cradle of the India's defence establishment, the National Defence Academy (NDA), is located right within the annals of Sahyadris - but more on this subject in a different blog post.]

Civilizations progress through continuity, adaptation and innovation - not by beginning from scratch every few centuries. When we insist on attributing every stone of these forts exclusively to the Marathas, we unintentionally diminish both the earlier civilizations that built them and the Marathas themselves. Shivaji Maharaj's greatness does not depend on whether he personally commissioned every fort. His greatness lies in something arguably even more remarkable: his ability to recognize strategic potential where others saw only ancient fortifications, and to build an empire through vision, organization and military brilliance. That is an achievement that requires no embellishment.

What Should Make Us Proud?

History, like these forts, is built layer upon layer. As I reflect upon UNESCO's recognition, I realize there are at least two reasons every Indian should celebrate.

The first is the extraordinary engineering heritage of the Deccan. These forts demonstrate centuries of innovation in architecture, hydrology, military engineering and landscape design. They remind us that India possessed sophisticated civil engineering traditions long before modern technology.

The second is the military genius of Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj and the Marathas. Shivaji Maharaj and his successors transformed inherited fortifications into one of history's most effective defensive networks, enabling a regional kingdom to challenge and eventually eclipse one of the world's greatest empires.

Both achievements deserve recognition. Both are part of India's story. Both are reasons to feel proud. Perhaps that is the lesson these forts continue to teach us. Stone walls survive not because they belong to one ruler, one dynasty or one political ideology. They survive because generation after generation chose to preserve, strengthen and build upon what they inherited. Maybe our understanding of history should do the same.

If UNESCO has honoured these forts, let us honour the truth they embody - not a convenient version of history, but the richer, more fascinating story of a civilization whose greatest achievements were often collective, cumulative and shared across centuries.

That, to me, is something worth being proud of!

Appendix - history of UNESCO-listed Maratha forts

1. Salher Fort (Nashik)

Original Construction

The exact date of Salher's first construction is unknown.
Most historians attribute its earliest fortifications to the Bagul rulers of Baglan (c. 14th century), although the hill itself may have served as a lookout much earlier.
It later became part of the Gujarat Sultanate and subsequently the Mughals.

Rebuilding and Expansion

Successive Islamic rulers strengthened the fort with stone ramparts, gates and water reservoirs.
The Mughals considerably reinforced it because it guarded the important Surat–Burhanpur trade route.

Maratha Period

Captured by Shivaji's forces in 1671.
The Battle of Salher (1672) became one of the largest open-field victories of the Marathas over the Mughals.
The Marathas repaired and maintained its defensive works rather than fundamentally rebuilding it.

Later History

Captured by the British after the Third Anglo-Maratha War.

Sources

UNESCO World Heritage Centre
https://whc.unesco.org/en/list/1739/
ASI https://asi.nic.in
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Salher

2. Shivneri Fort

Original Construction

The hill has been occupied since ancient times, with nearby Buddhist caves dating to around the 1st century BCE–3rd century CE.
The present fortifications were likely constructed during the Yadava dynasty (12th–13th century).
It later came under the Bahmani Sultanate, followed by the Ahmadnagar Nizam Shahis.

Rebuilding

Strengthened by the Nizam Shahis, who added gateways, water reservoirs and defensive walls.

Maratha Period

Best known as the birthplace of Shivaji Maharaj (1630).
Unlike Rajgad or Raigad, Shivneri was not significantly rebuilt by Shivaji because it remained strategically important under changing political control.

Later History

Passed through Mughal, Maratha and British hands.

Sources

UNESCO World Heritage Centre
ASI
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shivneri_Fort

3. Lohagad

Original Construction

One of Maharashtra's oldest surviving hill forts.
Exact builders remain uncertain.
The earliest fortifications may date to the Satavahana or early medieval period, although no definitive archaeological evidence confirms this.
Most visible early fortifications are generally attributed to the Yadavas of Devagiri.

Rebuilding

Strengthened successively by:

Bahmani Sultanate
Nizam Shahis
Adil Shahis

Maratha Period

Captured by Shivaji in 1648.
Used as a treasury, especially after the Surat campaigns.
Additional storage structures and defensive repairs were carried out.

Later History

Changed hands several times before British occupation.

Sources

UNESCO World Heritage Centre
ASI
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lohagad

4. Khanderi Fort

Original Construction

Unlike most forts in this list, Khanderi was built almost entirely by the Marathas.

Construction

Construction began in 1679 under Shivaji Maharaj.
Intended to counter British and Siddi naval influence near Bombay.
Construction continued despite opposition from the British East India Company and the Siddis of Janjira.

Engineering Features

Island fort
Freshwater reservoirs
Lighthouse
Heavy artillery emplacements

Later History

Became an important naval base under Kanhoji Angre.

Sources

UNESCO World Heritage Centre
ASI
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Khanderi_Fort

5. Raigad Fort (formerly Rairi)

Original Construction

Originally known as Rairi.
Probably fortified during the 12th–13th centuries, possibly under local chiefs or the Yadavas.
Later occupied by the Bahmani Sultanate and the Ahmadnagar Sultanate.

Rebuilding

After capturing the fort in 1656, Shivaji completely transformed it.
Architect Hiroji Indulkar redesigned it into a royal capital with:

palace complex
royal court
markets
reservoirs
granaries
Jagdishwar Temple
strengthened fortifications

Maratha Period

Capital of the Maratha Empire.
Shivaji's coronation took place here in 1674.

Later History

Captured by the Mughals in 1689.
Fell to the British in 1818.

Sources

UNESCO World Heritage Centre
ASI
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Raigad_Fort

6. Rajgad Fort (formerly Murumbdev)

Original Construction

Originally known as Murumbdev.
Exact construction date unknown.
Most historians attribute the earliest fortifications to the medieval period, possibly the Yadavas.

Rebuilding

Captured around 1647–48.
Shivaji rebuilt almost every major defensive feature:

Balekilla
fort walls
palaces
water systems
granaries
defensive gateways

Maratha Period

First capital of Shivaji for nearly 25 years.

Later History

Brief Mughal occupation before returning to Maratha control.

Sources

UNESCO World Heritage Centre
ASI
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rajgad_Fort

7. Pratapgad

Original Construction

One of the few forts built entirely during Shivaji's reign.

Construction

Constructed between 1656–1658.
Designed by Moropant Trimbak Pingle.
Built specifically to control the Par Pass between the Deccan plateau and Konkan.

Historical Importance

Site of Shivaji's famous encounter with Afzal Khan (1659).

Sources

UNESCO World Heritage Centre
ASI
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pratapgad

8. Suvarnadurg

Original Construction

Probably constructed by the Shilahara dynasty (11th–12th century).
Later occupied by the Bahmani Sultanate and Adil Shahis.

Rebuilding

Strengthened by successive Deccan Sultanates.

Maratha Period

Captured by Shivaji around 1660.
Extensively strengthened.
Became an important naval fort under Kanhoji Angre.

Later History

Captured by the British in 1755.

Sources

UNESCO World Heritage Centre
ASI
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Suvarnadurg

9. Panhala Fort

Original Construction

Built between 1178–1209 CE by the Shilahara ruler Bhoja II.
One of the oldest and largest forts in Maharashtra.

Rebuilding

Expanded by the Yadavas.
Strengthened by the Bahmani Sultanate.
Further enlarged by the Adil Shahis of Bijapur.

Maratha Period

Captured by Shivaji in 1659.
Extensively repaired.
Famous for Shivaji's escape during the siege of Panhala (1660).

Later History

Served as the capital of Tarabai during the Maratha civil war.

Sources

UNESCO World Heritage Centre
ASI
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Panhala_Fort

10. Vijaydurg

Original Construction

Originally called Gheria.
Built by the Shilahara dynasty around 1193 CE.

Rebuilding

Enlarged by the Yadavas.
Strengthened by the Bahmani Sultanate.

Maratha Period

Captured by Shivaji in 1653.
Expanded with:

triple defensive walls
naval dockyard
massive bastions
famous underwater defensive wall

Later History

Headquarters of Kanhoji Angre's navy.

Sources

UNESCO World Heritage Centre
ASI
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vijaydurg_Fort

11. Sindhudurg

Original Construction

Entirely commissioned by Shivaji.

Construction

Built between 1664–1667.
Designed by Hiroji Indulkar.
Constructed on Kurte Island.

Engineering Features

Hidden entrance.
Massive sea walls.
Freshwater wells.
Maritime defence headquarters.

Later History

Continued to serve as a major naval base throughout the Maratha period.

Sources

UNESCO World Heritage Centre
ASI
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sindhudurg_Fort

12. Gingee Fort (Tamil Nadu)

Original Construction

The earliest fortifications date to the Chola period (9th century CE).
Major expansion was undertaken by the Kon dynasty and later the Vijayanagara Empire (13th–15th centuries).

Rebuilding

Extensively strengthened by the Vijayanagara rulers with massive granite walls, citadels and granaries.
Later occupied by the Bijapur Sultanate.

Maratha Period

Captured by Shivaji in 1677 during his southern campaign.
Further strengthened by the Marathas.
Served as the Maratha capital-in-exile under Rajaram Maharaj (1690–1698) during Aurangzeb's Deccan campaign.

Later History

Captured by the Mughals after an eight-year siege.
Subsequently occupied by the Carnatic Nawabs, French and British.

Sources

UNESCO World Heritage Centre
ASI
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gingee_Fort

Why are dad's clumsy at emotion management?

2026-02-09T15:45:00.003+05:30

Image Credit: Photo by Raneesh Ravi on Unsplash

I am a dad - twice over now - and I have years of experience of being the son of my dad. So, I can claim to possess a reasonable level of experience on the subject of fathers and emotion management - and my verdict is that All Fathers are, in general, very poor at emotion management?

To begin with, look at the very characteristic constipated expression of the Dad in the photo above. I am sure he is so elated, happy, his heart palpitating, but his face betrays all of that - the contrast being the expressions of the kid on his lap. But many of you in general would agree that most of your dads would be the same - their happiness would be subdued, so would their sorrow; at best some dad's are good at showing off their anger - we often label such dad's as toxic, but I believe (or at least sincerely hope so!) that these are far fewer than the good dad's out there, who are even incapable of dealing with anger as an emotion.

As I stood outside the NICU yesterday, waiting for the duty doctor to come and update me about the health of my newborn, I myself was taken over by intense emotions on the inside but as usual I displayed a very calm exterior. After, I met the doctor, and my nerves calmed down enough, I started to analyze my own response - and analytical as I am - I tried figuring out why I was so poor at managing my emotions.

To be fair, managing emotions is difficult for everyone at times of strain, especially when it involves your offspring. Nevertheless, fathers tend to do worse than mothers, and that has been cited as one of the key reasons for a higher rate of cardiovascular diseases in men over women. Even worse, their inability to manage emotions is also responsible for them to not even acknowledge the health troubles they face, or recognize when explicitly communicated about those.

... boys and men who enact behaviors more closely aligned with stereotypical gender norms in their social environment are less likely to report receiving diagnoses or treatment for cardiovascular disease risk factors

Some people believe that men are less emotional than women - this myth however has been shattered by careful studies and scientific research. Men / Fathers experience emotions with the same intensity as women / mothers - but they're simply poor at managing / displaying them. Quoting below from a study:

Common sense tells us that women have better social skills, and are especially better at understanding of others’ emotions [5, 6, 7, 8, 9]. Indeed, research has shown that women often score higher on emotional intelligence or empathy tests than men. One would expect that these beliefs and scores on self-report tests also reflect actual differences in emotion recognition performance.

Although previous reviews and meta-analyses [16, 17, 18] have shown a small to moderate female advantage, recent studies have not always replicated this difference, leading to discussions about the extent to which and the circumstances in which women would outperform men, and how this should be explained [19].

In the present research based on a community sample of more than 5000 participants, we tested the emotional sensitivity hypothesis, stating that women are more sensitive to perceive subtle, i.e. low intense or ambiguous, emotion cues. We found no support for the emotional sensitivity account, as both genders rated the target emotions as similarly intense at both levels of stimulus intensity.

Gender stereotyping, and a general social expectation from men to not display their emotions aside, I believe there is a fundamental biological reason why men have not developed the mental muscle to deal with emotions over centuries of evolution: the lack of hormonal triggers.

Childbirth involves a load of hormonal changes in women, and while a father undergoes a lot of emotional changes, there is no hormonal change in men either leading up to or after the birth of a child. Most men undergo only one hormonal transformation during their lifetime, which is during puberty. However, most life changing events occur much later in their lives, especially in the present modern day society. For women, bodies trigger hormonal and emotional changes together, which may make it harder, but also aid women in handling the emotional changes better given that their bodies and minds are in sync.

This of course, has cascading effects - having processed the previous cycle of emotions better, women go on becoming better at processing emotions as they age, their cognitive skills helping sharpen their emotional processing capacities. It definitely helps that many women may continue to be in caregiving roles, but even if not so, the initial impetus does set them up on a path which makes it easier in later life to process all kinds of emotions, whether it is happiness, grief or pain.

Men on the other hand are handicapped to begin with, and with societal expectations of being 'strong', men neither develop a mental muscle to deal with their emotions, nor have any biological support to deal with them, making them susceptible to the 'constipated look' often displayed when faced with intense happiness, and stone-face when faced with intense grief.

There is no shortcut to resolving this menace - nature is not going to reprogram millennia of evolutionary memory and men are never going to experience a hormonal transformation on major life events. The only way out is probably social awakening towards mental wellbeing of men on the lines of the Movember movement. While Movember is meant for a more general awareness about men's health, sub-events under it can focus on mental health specifically. And within mental health, while there may be an effort to cover the specific cases of trauma or distress, it is more important to highlight the more commonplace challenges faced by almost every man - even the ones who have always been in happy situations - of their incapacity and evolutionary handicap to have a means to deal with their emotions.

There needs to be special attention paid to this in schools - just like girls are taken through special classes on mensural health, boys need to be given dedicated education on mental health in their pre-teens and teens. These are difficult conversations and probably need trained instructors, or specific training to teachers dealing in these subjects.

If there is a quiet takeaway I want to leave you with, it is this: fathers are not emotionally absent by choice, nor deficient by nature alone - they are often simply unequipped. Behind the calm exterior, the stiff smile, and the stone-faced silence is usually a man experiencing emotion at full intensity, but without language, training, or permission to process it.

Recognizing this is not about excusing harmful behavior or lowering expectations; it is about replacing judgment with understanding and neglect with intention. If we want healthier men, healthier fathers, and healthier families, we must stop assuming emotional competence will emerge on its own and start treating it as a skill that deserves to be taught, practiced, and supported - early, openly, and without shame.

Learning from History: Evolution, Success, Stasis, Colonisation of Societies — and What Present-Day Trends Indicate About the Future

2026-02-09T15:45:00.001+05:30

Human civilisation has never advanced evenly. Progress has always been lopsided, contingent, and cumulative, shaped less by virtue or intelligence than by geography, institutions, and the incentives societies create for adaptation. To understand why some regions prospered early, why others stagnated, how colonisation emerged as a global phenomenon, and what the present moment implies for the future of humanity, we must look at history not as a moral story but as a systems story — one of feedback loops, compounding advantages, and institutional lock-ins.

The earliest large-scale prosperity emerged in Eurasia, not because of inherent superiority, but because geography quietly stacked the deck. The Eurasian landmass runs primarily east–west, allowing crops, animals, and technologies to diffuse across similar climates with relatively low friction. Wheat, barley, cattle, horses, ironworking, and writing spread over thousands of kilometres without encountering drastic seasonal or ecological barriers. By contrast, Africa and the Americas are oriented north–south, forcing innovations to cross deserts, jungles, and radically different climate zones. This alone delayed agricultural diffusion by millennia. Early agriculture mattered because it produced surplus calories, and surplus calories are the prerequisite for everything else — cities, writing, metallurgy, administration, standing armies, and science. By 1 CE, Eurasia already accounted for roughly 70 percent of global population and over 80 percent of global economic output (reconstructed Maddison estimates), not because it was more advanced culturally, but because it industrialised food production earlier and more widely.

Once surplus existed, Eurasia compounded its advantage through domesticable animals, dense trade networks, and repeated exposure to epidemic diseases. Oxen and horses multiplied human labour; rivers and coastlines lowered transport costs; diseases culled populations but also produced immunity over centuries. When Eurasian societies later expanded outward, germs often did more damage than guns. These were not deliberate strategies, but emergent properties of long cohabitation with animals and high population density. By the medieval period, Eurasia hosted multiple advanced civilisational cores simultaneously — China, India, the Islamic world, and Europe — all sophisticated, urbanised, and productive.

Yet from roughly the 11th century onward, much of Asia entered a condition of stasis, not decline in the sense of collapse, but equilibrium at scale. Large Asian empires achieved what earlier societies could only dream of: administrative reach over vast territories, predictable taxation, food security, and internal peace. This success produced a paradox. Stability reduced the pressure to experiment. Centralised bureaucracies filtered innovation through court politics. Merchants remained subordinate to the state. Social mobility narrowed. When shocks occurred — Mongol invasions, climate fluctuations, or later European contact — Asian societies rebuilt by restoring older institutional models rather than reimagining them. Productivity per capita in China and India remained high by global standards until the 18th century, but growth flattened. Europe, by contrast, was poor, fragmented, and violent. Dozens of competing states, none strong enough to suppress innovation everywhere, created an environment where failure was frequent but adaptation relentless. By 1700, Europe still lagged Asia in absolute output, but its rate of change had decisively overtaken it.

Colonisation emerged not because Europe was morally or intellectually superior, but because it escaped equilibrium. Permanent interstate competition drove military innovation, financial experimentation, and oceanic expansion. Capital markets arose not by grand design but by accident, as rulers borrowed from merchants who gradually acquired leverage and legal protections. By the time European powers reached Asia with industrial-age weapons and navies, the institutional gap — not the cultural gap — had become decisive. Colonisation then locked this divergence in place. Colonised societies were prevented from accumulating capital, industrialising independently, or reforming institutions organically. Global productivity growth slowed overall, as extraction replaced innovation across much of the world. Between 1820 and 1950, global GDP grew, but inequality between regions exploded — a clear sign that colonialism redistributed output upward rather than expanding it efficiently.

One society escaped this fate narrowly and instructively: . Japan’s isolation during the early modern period did not eliminate commerce, literacy, or internal competition; it simply contained external influence. When Western powers arrived abruptly in the mid-19th century, the shock was undeniable but not annihilating. Japan retained sovereignty, administrative competence, and elite cohesion. Most importantly, its ruling class chose collective self-destruction over national subjugation. Feudal privileges were abolished, military and educational systems rebuilt, and foreign technologies adopted selectively rather than ideologically. Within two generations, Japan crossed the industrial threshold. History rarely offers such narrow windows. Japan succeeded because it had enough centralisation to act, enough decentralisation to adapt, and elites willing to sacrifice themselves to preserve sovereignty.

The broader lesson from colonialism and the long stagnation it imposed is that world productivity declines when systems optimise for control over experimentation. Empires, whether imperial China or European colonial regimes, extract efficiently but innovate poorly. Global prosperity expands fastest when knowledge, capital, and failure are allowed to circulate. The Industrial Revolution accelerated growth not because of machines alone, but because institutions tolerated uncertainty. When those institutions were later imposed unevenly through colonial rule, the global system became hierarchically productive but locally brittle. The 20th century’s wars, depressions, and decolonisation were in part corrections to that imbalance.

In the present day, and embody two different responses to this historical inheritance. China escaped poverty through decentralised experimentation and market incentives after 1978, achieving the fastest large-scale growth in human history. Yet as it approaches the technological frontier, it is recentralising authority, prioritising stability and control. Historically, such systems excel at catch-up but struggle with breakthrough innovation. China’s future is therefore one of sustained power but rising rigidity — high output with declining marginal creativity unless incentives shift again. India, in contrast, has grown more slowly but built dense democratic and legal institutions. Its path is noisy, inefficient, and frustrating, yet adaptable. India’s challenge is not authoritarian lock-in but democratic drag — underinvestment in human capital and uneven manufacturing growth. Its opportunity lies in combining digital public infrastructure with labour-absorbing industry. One system risks brittleness; the other risks delay.

Looking beyond nations, the 21st century presents a possibility unprecedented in history: a partially integrated mankind. Climate change, pandemics, AI, and supply chains do not respect borders. Civilisational prosperity now depends less on conquest and more on coordination. History suggests that global systems prosper when three conditions are met: decentralised innovation, shared standards, and credible restraint on extraction — whether by empires, corporations, or states. The future global order will require institutions that allow competition without collapse, diversity without fragmentation, and growth without ecological overshoot. This is not idealism; it is systems logic. Civilisations fall not when they fail to dominate, but when they lose the ability to adapt.

The ultimate lesson of history is sobering but hopeful. Progress is not linear, dominance is temporary, and equilibrium is dangerous. Yet decline is not inevitable. Societies that preserve openness, tolerate dissent, and align elite incentives with collective survival can bend history — slowly, imperfectly, but decisively. The question for the present century is not who will rule the world, but whether humanity can finally design systems that reward adaptation faster than they reward control.

Mumbai Civic Polls: The End of an Era, and the Beginning of Strategic Reckonin

2026-01-17T10:53:00.003+05:30

Image Source: Hindustan Times

The recently concluded Mumbai civic polls mark one of the most pivotal political moments for Mumbai - and the larger Mumbai Metropolitan Region (MMR) - in over three decades. To fully grasp their significance, one must go back to 1995, when Bal Thackeray and the Shiv Sena first rose to power in the Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation (BMC). Since then, control of Mumbai’s civic body has been the unquestioned crown jewel of Marathi local politics - whoever won Mumbai, was sure to be the power broker at the Maharashtra state level. That era has now decisively ended.

The Fall of the Thackeray Stronghold

For Uddhav Thackeray, this election represents more than just a political loss - it is the forfeiture of the family’s most valuable inheritance. The BMC, formerly the Bombay Municipal Corporation but now the Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation, is not only the richest municipal corporation in India but arguably the largest local body in the world by population [rivaling Shanghai and Tokyo]. For decades, it served as both the ideological nerve center and the financial backbone of the Thackeray-led Shiv Sena.

The loss is therefore existential. Without control of the BMC, Sena (UBT) stands to lose not just institutional power but also the steady flow of political and financial resources required to sustain modern political campaigns - campaigns that have become increasingly expensive under the Bharatiya Janata Party’s highly centralized, resource-intensive electoral model. This defeat is likely to have cascading effects, gradually eroding the party’s organizational heft, cadre morale, and voter confidence.

Raj Thackeray: A Predictable Non-Factor

A secondary - but symbolically important - loss is that of Bal Thackeray’s nephew, Raj Thackeray. Despite periodic speculation that a reunion between cousins could resurrect the Thackeray aura, reality has once again intervened. Since his split from the parent organization, Raj has failed to establish himself as a consistent electoral force, barring a fleeting moment of relevance during the 2012 BMC elections.

The civic polls have now put to rest any lingering hope that the Thackeray legacy could be revived through familial consolidation. The aura that once commanded Mumbai’s streets and ballot boxes has dissipated beyond recovery.

Eknath Shinde: Winning Politically, Losing Strategically

If there is one leader who exemplifies the paradox of this election, it is Eknath Shinde. On paper, Shinde’s faction of the Shiv Sena entered the contest from a position of strength. Having briefly served as Chief Minister and having negotiated an impressive pre-poll allocation of nearly 90 seats from the senior coalition partner, the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), expectations were high.

The results, however, tell a different story. Shinde’s faction converted only 24 of those 90 seats into victories - a performance that severely undercuts his strategic credibility. While the BJP may still depend on him numerically to secure the mayoral position, Shinde has failed in the more critical task of displacing Sena (UBT) in its traditional strongholds. To his coalition partner, this signals ineffectiveness rather than indispensability.

His poor showing outside Thane - his home turf - has further diminished his stature. In Navi Mumbai, where his party faced the BJP directly, Shinde’s faction was decisively outmaneuvered by the BJP’s entrenched local leader, Ganesh Naik. The implications are stark: Shinde now risks being seen not as a state-level leader or former Chief Minister, but as a narrowly influential suburban politician.

If Shinde intends to reverse this decline, the path ahead is clear but arduous. He must invest heavily in organizational rebuilding across South-Central Mumbai - Dadar, Parel, Worli, Prabhadevi - and, crucially, in the western suburbs such as Khar, Santacruz, Bandra West, and Chandivali, where he failed to meaningfully challenge Sena (UBT) despite favorable conditions.

A Dangerous Undercurrent: The Rise of AIMIM

Perhaps the most worrying development to emerge from these polls is the electoral breakthrough of the All India Majlis-e-Ittehadul Muslimeen (AIMIM) in the MMR. This is not merely a local anomaly; it is a symptom of deeper polarization.

There is little doubt that the aggressive communal rhetoric employed by the ruling establishment has contributed to sections of society feeling politically marginalized. When secular alternatives fail to address such anxieties, voters gravitate toward openly communal platforms. For a region like Mumbai - the financial engine of the nation - this trajectory is deeply concerning. India’s history offers enough reminders of how communal polarization can derail economic and social progress.

If the national leadership is serious about the ideals of Sabka Saath, Sabka Vikas, Sabka Vishwas, then this moment demands introspection. Dialing down divisive politics is no longer just a moral imperative; it is a strategic necessity.

Conclusion: The Legacy Ends, the Future Uncertain

In sum, these civic polls represent the first definitive nail in the coffin of Bal Thackeray’s political legacy - though likely not the last. Yet, paradoxically, the verdict is even more damning for the Shinde-led Shiv Sena. Having failed to convert opportunity into dominance, the faction now stands at a crossroads: undertake urgent organizational and ideological course correction, or acknowledge political reality and move toward a full merger with the BJP.

Mumbai has spoken clearly. The question is whether its leaders are listening.

Superboys of Malegaon and the Promise of a Decentralised Cinema Culture

2025-12-13T15:07:00.013+05:30

On a slightly long-haul flight last night, I found myself watching Superboys of Malegaon - the film came recommended from interviews of many stalwarts such as Javed Akhtar, Farah Khan, and Siddhant Chaturvedi, reviewers like Anupama Chopra, media personalities like Saurabh Dwivedi, and endorsed by many guests on his show. So it had been on my watchlist for some time now - the long haul flight gave me a chance to clear up my list [I also started watching an old Hollywood classic Fargo, which has been on my watchlist for years now! Will probably finish the remaining 40 minutes later tonight.]

What was more of a clear-my-watchlist exercise ended up staying with me long after the screen went dark. The film refused to leave my mind, even though I had started watching another right after. Superboys of Malegaon is an easy film to like - rustic, warm, humorous, and deeply human - but where its stands out is on balancing emotion and inspiration without tipping into sentimentality.

For the uninitiated [SPOILER ALERT], the film is about a group of young boys/men in the late 90s/2000s, in Malegaon - a small powerloom town in Maharashtra, who decide to make films with almost no money, no formal training, and no access to the traditional machinery of cinema. They borrow, improvise, recycle, and reimagine. Costumes are stitched together from whatever is available, special effects are invented with household materials, and stories are adapted by spoofing popular Bollywood and Hollywood films - but filtered through the realities, humour, and anxieties of their own lives. What emerges is not parody in the mocking sense, but homage to popular cinema and a stubborn belief that storytelling belongs to everyone, not just those in Mumbai studios. The film quietly shows how these amateur productions become a source of joy, pride, and collective identity for the town itself, binding people together through shared laughter and shared labour.

The film is a tribute to grassroots cinema and the passion of amateur filmmakers, but for me it was also about its message on bias for action. Often preached in TED talks and inspirational videos, bias for action is a much abused term but the story of Malegaon's film-makers illustrates how rather than be constrained by the limitations of your surroundings, bias for action can lead to creating something unique and lasting; and how it can inspire a generation towards something greater. But more importantly provide those involved, with a life purpose. A dialogue in the movie which embodies this message is: "Bahot kiya vo mere liye, hum sab ke liye! Sholay ki shooting mein zindagi mein pehli bar mereko subah uthne mein maza aaya. Malegaon mein kitne log picture banare. Pehle kya tha idhar?"

What made the message of the movie even more compelling is the knowledge that the original documentary capturing Malegaon’s cottage film industry was released way back in 2012. Watching 'Superboys of Malegaon' now, I could not help but wonder what might have been possible if the moment had been seized by policymakers then. With the right policy push, this could have sparked a quiet revolution in Indian filmmaking - one not centred on scale or spectacle, but on decentralisation. Malegaon could have been a prototype rather than an exception.

I find myself asking why the Maharashtra government did not look at Malegaon as a living laboratory and attempt to replicate its spirit across the state. And then naturally - why stop at Maharashtra at all? Why shouldn’t there be local filmmaking ecosystems in a Jabalpur, Samastipur, Mehsana, or Kangra? Why not even in the remotest regions, such as the Andaman and Nicobar Islands? India is, after all, a country where every region has its own songs, dances, myths, dialects, and performance traditions. Cinema should have been the natural modern extension of that cultural inheritance. With modest investment and institutional support, we could have created hundreds, even thousands, of local movie-making hubs - small factories of imagination rooted in local soil.

Of course, the world has moved on. In today’s landscape of YouTube, Instagram, and inexpensive digital tools, we are already past the era when filmmaking required gatekeepers to grant permission. Anyone with a phone can tell a story. Yet this does not make policy irrelevant - if anything, it makes it more urgent and more interesting. Instead of making low quality disjointed reels with low watchability, we can train youth to tell meaningful stories, well crafted to reach global audiences, and enable them with tools to transcend language and thus make the appeal of their stories universal. Imagine if every region was offered accessible facilities for making short films and low-budget movies: shared equipment, editing suites, basic training, and local screening spaces. The result will not just be more content, but a million stories told in video form, consumed locally first, and then inevitably, travelling outward.

Such an ecosystem would deepen India’s movie culture in a way that multiplexes and streaming platforms alone cannot. More importantly, it would give voice to hundreds of local cultures and subcultures that are slowly being flattened by urban homogeneity. Languages, accents, rituals, and everyday experiences that rarely make it to mainstream screens would find representation, not as exotic backdrops, but as lived realities. Watching 'Superboys of Malegaon', I realised that the film is not just a tribute to a group of passionate amateur filmmakers. It is also a quiet reminder of a road not taken - and an invitation to imagine what could still be built if we take storytelling seriously as a tool of cultural survival.

Preserving What Lies Between Eras - Why the 90s Still Matter

2025-11-07T00:21:00.013+05:30

I was watching the India-Australia ODI the other day when something curious caught my attention. The stadium façade - its arches, the rhythm of its windows, the quiet dignity of its design - looked oddly Victorian. This was the Sydney Cricket Ground, which upon research I discovered was built in 1851, so aptly had a Victorian architecture. What was remarkable that while the stadium would have been upgraded and fitted with modern amenities and technology, its architecture was never tampered with, rather maintained to the original Victorian designs.

That afternoon, I stepped into a branch of the State Bank of India after several years. Driving towards the branch I prepared myself for an experience I probably last had 30 years back in the 1990s - that soft, sepia-tinted decade with the pace of everything - slower. But as I stepped in the branch, the air felt far different. The air-conditioning hummed gently, queues were orderly, and staff went about their work with quiet professionalism. It struck me that even our public sector banks had come a long way. Gone were the hot, paper-filled offices of the 90s where the smell of carbon paper and dust hung heavy in the air. Today’s PSU banks are still a little bureaucratic, yes, but far more polished, better organized, and less intimidating.

As I stood there, nostalgia crept in. I got thinking that we are now slowly losing out on a lot of things that were indicative of the 90s and the early 2000s, which includes the kind of buildings, architecture of the 80s and 90s - very functional, plain, bland architecture but also the customs, the mannerisms of working of people, the language and the culture. For example, Banks were slower and bureaucratic with almost no 'customer service' processes in place - you didn't get assigned a 'token' upon walking into the branch, there were no SLAs on how much time it would take to resolve your query or to service you. A lot of it was frustrating because running a simple errand at the bank meant sacrificing half a day's productive work. The transformation was undeniable - and yet, something more than infrastructure seemed lost in the transition.

Up until the 90s, Bank branches had a quiet familiarity in them. The staff would be the same for decades, and if you were a regular customer, they would know - not just you - but your family. I remember being sent to the Bank, as a 15 year old with a handwritten withdrawal note by my Mom, because she had to be home with my brother and my father was traveling. The teller would know who I was, he would help me fill out the appropriate withdrawal slip, get me to sign at the appointed place, and withdraw cash and hand it out to me. He would also walk out of the branch with me and make sure I mounted my bicycle and went in the direction of my home until his gaze could follow. There were no mobile phones, but he'd probably also find out a way to reach my Dad at an office phone to inform him that the money was handed over.

The admixture of the Sydney Cricket Ground having preserved the Victorian architecture of the yore, and the fact that even an SBI branch felt transformed, got me thinking of what else we're losing from the 80s-90s-2000s which might have been valuable. I felt that we are slowly erasing the visual and emotional vocabulary of the 90s.

The functional, unglamorous buildings of that era - the concrete boxes that quietly housed dreams, ambitions, and small triumphs - are being replaced by shiny glass façades. And along with those walls, something less tangible is fading too: the everyday mannerisms, language, and unspoken social codes that shaped how we related to one another. Somewhere between the chaos of yesterday and the efficiency of today, we seem to be losing a certain texture - not just of office spaces and architecture, but of the culture that once filled them.

From Aspiration to Argument

One peculiar aspect of the India of the 1990s which I recollect is that it did not wear its ideology on its sleeve. It was embedded in everyday life - in classrooms, workplaces, and television screens. Programs like Mile Sur Mera Tumhara or Surabhi didn’t preach harmony; they portrayed it as a lived reality. Jingles like Ek Chidiya, Anek Chidiya were gentle reminders of unity, not pompous declarations of jingoistic nationalistic fervor. Religious and cultural coexistence was so natural that stories didn’t have to mention it. There was unity without self-congratulation, and diversity without defensiveness. That organic, almost invisible culture has now given way to a far more explicit and exhausting discourse. Today, even the most innocuous statement is filtered through a binary lens of “for” or “against,” “religious” or “anti-religious,” “nationalist” or “liberal.”

More importantly, back then, public discourse was shaped by aspiration. Students obsessed over better grades, getting into IITs, IIMs or civil services. Professionals sought promotions and families wanted to build better lives. Even the state machinery - however bureaucratic - shared a quiet obsession with improvement and nation building. India’s collective narrative was about moving forward. Our ambitions were personal, not ideological. We were united not by slogans, but by aspiration. Progress was our common religion.

Fast forward to the 2020s, and everything feels louder - our architecture, our conversations, and our identities. The very buildings of the 90s are being torn down and replaced, just as our cultural fabric seems to be shredding under the weight of polarization. Every opinion today feels like a potential battlefield. Whether it’s a meme, a joke, or a comment on economic policy, everything is dissected through the lens of ideology - secular versus religious, left versus right, “for” or “against.” And when every opinion is dissected for subtext, every joke demands disclaimers, then even silence is suspect.

We’ve reached a point where neutrality is seen as evasive and not taking sides is also akin to taking one. Energy is diverted from progress to positioning. Instead of discussing how to grow the economy, debates now revolve around whether a policy aligns with a perceived ideology. The question has shifted from “Does this make life better?” to “Whose side are you on?”

That shift is more than semantic; it threatens productivity and social cohesion. A society fixated on ideological alignment risks intellectual stasis - and fatigue is already visible in the public mood.

Perhaps that’s why so many people today feel exhausted by social media. It’s no longer a place of discovery or connection - it’s a battleground of labels. The fatigue we feel isn’t just from information overload; it’s from interpretation overload. Every thought must be decoded for its hidden loyalties.

And that is what I miss most about the 90s - the innocence or even absence of intention; or the need to find one in every action. The simplicity of being able to express, laugh, or criticize without having to declare which “side” you’re on.

Preserving What Lies Between Eras

We often speak about preserving our ancient heritage - the temples, forts, palaces, monuments even cave dwellings, that tell the story of our civilization from ancient to modern. And we must! But we must also recognize that the decades after independence - the 60s, 70s, 80s, 90s, and even the early 2000s - are equally a part of our living history.

Those concrete office blocks, post-modern rectangular undecorated bank buildings, and public sector campuses were the architecture of aspiration. They reflected a time when India was building itself - modestly, imperfectly, but with purpose. We need to preserve at least some of these spaces, not as tourist attractions, but as reminders of how we functioned, dreamed, and collaborated in those years. And just as we must preserve those physical structures, we must find ways to preserve the cultural architecture of that period too - the ethos of unspoken nationalism, of unforced unity, of collective progress.

For those of us who came of age in the late 90s or early 2000s, this sense of loss is deeply personal. We aren’t yearning for nostalgia’s sake. What we truly miss is continuity. The unbroken thread of values that made India not just a diverse country, but a harmoniously functioning one - where difference was normal, not dangerous.

Societies need reference points - eras that remind them of who they were when they were at their most progressive. The 90s represented one such point for India: quietly nationalist, collectively aspirational, modestly confident. The 90s taught us how to coexist without constantly reminding each other that we were coexisting. That is what we need to preserve - not just in memory, but in practice.

Preserving 90s culture does not mean returning to landlines or paper ledgers. It means restoring the underlying sensibility: a focus on progress without polarization, on unity without uniformity. In the rush to modernize, we’ve begun to demolish not just structures but sensibilities. Rebuilding the middle - the space of reason, aspiration, and quiet nationalism - may be the most urgent construction project India faces today.

Because someday, when our children look back at our times, I hope they don’t just see glass towers and polarized timelines. I hope they can still feel the quiet hum of a simpler decade - the hum of an India that didn’t need to shout to stay united.

CMS-03 a leap towards Bharat Antariksh Station

2025-11-02T23:27:00.008+05:30

India’s Heaviest Communication Satellite #CMS03 successfully launched by LVM3-M4 from SDSC-SHAR, Sriharikota. https://x.com/ISRO/status/1985027440645972189
— ISRO (@isro) October 31, 2025

India launched its yet heaviest satellite weighing close to 4.5 tons today - a monumental achievement in itself. But this achievement is more significant when seen in context of India’s aspiration to launch a Space Station within the next decade. Demonstrating the maturing strength of ISRO’s heavy-lift infrastructure, beyond symbolism, this capability directly relates to the next great frontier: deploying the homegrown space station.

Artist’s illustration of India’s Bharatiya Antariksh Station. Credit: ISRO

ISRO has already announced its intent to place a “Bharatiya Antariksh Station” in low-Earth orbit by the early 2030s. To do this, India will need to routinely lift large, pressurized modules, crew capsules, and cargo vehicles into orbit - much like what the United States, Russia, and China have done over past decades.

At present, LVM3 can place about 8 tonnes into low Earth orbit, or about 4-4.5 tonnes into geostationary transfer orbit (GTO). That’s enough for a single crew capsule (as in the upcoming Gaganyaan mission) or small station modules, but far from the 20-25 tonne modules launched by China’s Long March 5B for its Tiangong Space Station. To put that gap in perspective:

The International Space Station weighs roughly 420 tonnes — which would require over 95 CMS-03-sized launches to assemble.
China’s Tiangong Station, at 70 tonnes, would still need about 16 such payloads to reach its mass if each were lifted by LVM3.

Notably, 96 is actually almost the same as the number of launches actually taken for the ISS (though pretty high for Tiangong). However, what truly limits the payload isn’t just mass - it’s shape, volume, and integration. When it comes to sheer lifting capacity, ISRO’s LVM3 can place around 8,000 kilograms into low Earth orbit - nearly twice the mass of the CMS-03 satellite. So, from a purely numerical standpoint, mass isn’t the biggest limitation. A single LVM3 could easily lift one CMS-03-class payload and still have headroom to spare.

But a communication satellite like CMS-03 is a compact, self-contained unit designed to fit within a five-meter fairing. Space station modules, by contrast, are bulky, pressurized structures built to sustain human life. They need internal space, docking ports, radiation shielding, and systems for temperature control and life support. In other words, they’re large and hollow, not dense and compact.

This difference in geometry means that even if LVM3 can technically lift eight tonnes, it may not be able to accommodate a full-sized station module inside its current fairing. Unlike communication satellites, habitable modules must carry complex life-support systems - including air circulation, environmental control, waste management, and radiation shielding. These add considerable weight for every cubic meter of usable volume. Each module also needs standardized docking ports, berthing hardware, and robotic fixtures to connect seamlessly with others - hardware that consumes both mass and design complexity.

Then there are the logistical and operational challenges. Assembling a station requires astronauts or robotic systems to connect modules in orbit, install power and data links, and maintain stability during construction. The International Space Station itself took over 40 assembly flights by multiple nations to complete. Attempting a similar build with dozens of smaller, telecom-style modules would dramatically increase both risk and cost.

Finally, sustaining a station means regular cargo and crew transport - missions that would rely on Gaganyaan and future Indian cargo vehicles. Each resupply flight adds to the total launch count and overall mission expense. Clearly, India can’t build a full-fledged space station with LVM3 alone - at least not efficiently.

That’s why countries building space stations - such as China with its Long March 5B, capable of lofting 22-tonne modules - rely on larger rockets specifically engineered for such missions. Even if India could launch dozens of CMS-03-sized payloads to orbit, constructing a functioning space station that way would be impractical and inefficient.

ISRO’s answer to that challenge is the Next Generation Launch Vehicle (NGLV) - a semi-cryogenic, partially reusable rocket designed to carry 20–50 tonnes to low Earth orbit. When operational - tentatively around 2032 - it will place India in the same league as SpaceX’s Falcon 9 Heavy or China’s Long March 5B, enabling the launch of large, human-rated station modules in one go.

In the interim, LVM3 will play a key bridging role: launching crewed Gaganyaan missions, deploying small laboratory modules, and possibly carrying cargo variants to resupply future space infrastructure. These missions will provide invaluable experience in life support systems, docking mechanisms, on-orbit assembly, and long-duration human presence - all stepping stones toward India’s permanent space presence.

ISRO’s Roadmap in One View

Phase	Vehicle	Max LEO Payload	Mission Type	Space Station Role
2025–2028	LVM3 (Gaganyaan)	~8 t	Human spaceflight	Crew & tech demo
2028–2030	Upgraded LVM3 (cargo)	~8 t	Cargo / small lab	Early module launches
2030–2035	NGLV	20–50 t	Heavy lift / reusability	Core station modules
2035+	Possibly reusable heavy variants	>50 t	Large-scale orbital assembly	Expansion modules

So when CMS-03 roared into the sky today, it wasn’t just another satellite heading for orbit. It was a proof of strength - that India now possesses the propulsion, reliability, and launch maturity to think bigger. A 4.5-ton satellite today could very well be the foundation stone of India’s 25-ton space station tomorrow.

In many ways, CMS-03’s launch represents more than a technological feat - it’s a statement of intent. It signals India’s steady transition from being a reliable satellite-launching nation to an emerging space-power with human-spaceflight and orbital ambitions.

The leap from launching a 4.5-tonne communication satellite to assembling a multi-module space station is enormous, but not unimaginable - it’s the same progression followed by every major spacefaring nation. With the LVM3 proving its muscle, the Gaganyaan program preparing Indian astronauts, and the Next Generation Launch Vehicle on the horizon, ISRO is quietly assembling the pieces of the puzzle.

When the first Bharatiya Space Station takes shape in the 2030s, historians may look back at CMS-03’s ascent as the moment when India truly began its journey from launching satellites to building worlds in orbit.

Tackling Range Anxiety: Why India’s EV Charging Strategy Must Prioritise Highways

2025-10-27T12:19:00.001+05:30

The government recently came up with a proposal to allocate ₹2,000 crore - nearly a fifth of the outlay of ₹10,000 crore from the PM eDrive initiative - to setting up 72,000 EV chargers nationwide. The Union Government has asked states to secure land and install infrastructure (such as transformers and sub-stations) to avail the subsidy, enabling rapid deployment of 72 k chargers across the country.

Since the government has not announced a detailed structure for setting up the chargers, it is likely that this fund may get utilized more in urban areas where more EVs are being sold. I would argue however that we should be doing just the opposite. This may sound counter-intuitive, but one of the largest hindrances in rapid adoption of EVs is the range anxiety people feel when—even if only occasionally—they embark on a longer drive, typically on highways. Many potential buyers think: “I drive locally 80 % of the time—but what if that one out-of-town trip leaves me stranded?”

In India, the distribution of public charging stations is heavily skewed toward urban markets. According to recent data released by Ministry of Power, as of January 2025, India had approximately 15,000 public EV charging stations heavily concentrated in metro cities like Delhi, Mumbai, Bangalore, and Hyderabad. The highway network remains under-served. The result: city drivers hesitate to commit to an EV when they imagine the open road stretching ahead and none of the reassurance of a charging point in sight. If we address that fear, we may be able to unlock a much larger market for EVs.

By focusing the government’s role on highways - where the private sector is less motivated and the network effect is weaker - we fill the missing link. The private sector can continue to densify city chargers (where returns are highest), while the government builds the backbone of out-of-town confidence. This not only addresses the occasional long trip worry, but bolsters logistics, fleet mobility, tourism and inter-city travel - all of which depend on reliable highway charging.

Another important reason why putting up chargers along highways is that it benefits rural populations where both - population and vehicle density - is lower. Hence, this strategy serves as a good measure of affirmative action enabling weaker areas with infrastructure paving way for their development. And since charging an EV takes significantly longer than filling up petrol or diesel, charging stations along highways will be layby points for drivers and have potential to evolve into hubs of communion - cafes, eateries, even a flea market for local handicraft - all this will help create a place of employment and livelihood for rural youth.

But is putting 72k chargers along the highway sufficient to create a significant dent in charging capacity? Let’s do the math together. India’s national highway network runs approximately 146,145 km in length, while state highways add up to 179,535 km. Let us assume that the private sector will match governments effort by 50% of what the government has planned. So, if we envisaged placing all 110,000 chargers (72,000 government + 38,000 private) only along the National Highway stretch, the average spacing would be around 1.33 km between chargers (wow!). A theoretical dream: drive 1.3 km and there’s a plug waiting - however, not practical. Expand the scope to include state highways too (adding roughly 179,535 km) for a total highway network of about 325,680 km, and the gap widens to about 2.96 km between chargers. Still strong. Yet in reality, traffic is not evenly distributed; major corridors bear the brunt of travel, and some rural state highways see only occasional vehicles.

Therefore if we applied a traffic-weighted logic: allocate more chargers where traffic is denser, fewer where it isn’t. Under that model, the major corridors (the Golden Quadrilateral, North-South/East-West linkages, expressways) achieve spacing around 1.3–2 km, while quieter state highways might see 6–8 km between chargers. Overall average across all highways: about 3 km.

Now build in the realistic assumption that of the 38,000 private chargers, only about 5,000 will be placed on highways (primarily at city-highway interfaces) and the remaining 33,000 will cluster within urban areas. That leaves 72,000 government chargers dedicated to highway coverage. With those numbers, the 325,680 km highway network divided by 77,000 chargers yields approximately 4.23 km between plugs on average. In weighted form we still ensure the major corridors get ~1.7-2.1 km spacing, other national highways ~4.2 km, and lesser SH stretches ~8.4 km. Even this is not bad at all since even a basic EV 4-wheeler has a range of approximately 200kms [1, 2], while basic two-wheelers have a range of 40kms [3].

Why this matters?

Left to their own, States are likely to have divergent strategies - while some with a good highway network like Maharashtra and Tamil Nadu - may build charging infrastructure along highways, most others are likely to concentrate it to urban settlements. Further, there are several advantages of government funding used to secure highway charging infrastructure:

Range-anxiety threshold drops - As I have mentioned earlier, if an EV buyer knows there’s a reliable charger every ~2 km on major highway corridors (and no more than ~8 km on lesser routes), the mental barrier of “can I do a long outing” falls dramatically.
Boosting urban adoption via highway assurance - Even if a user’s daily travel within the city is not enough for them to see economic benefit in moving from fossil fuel engine to EVs, the knowledge they could drive beyond the city on an EV, triggers a purchase. In India, people are very conscious of economic utility, paying higher for an EV or investing in a new two or four wheeler is weighed on how much they will save on running costs. Urban drivers demand less from the charger network locally (home, office), but when they think of longer distances on highways, the math starts making more sense.
Efficient use of public funds - Private players will continue invest in urban cores (high-return); government focuses on the harder, less-profitable stretches (highways) where market failure risk is higher. This avoids duplication, uses mixed-economy efficiently.
Network effect & logistics benefits - Highways are not only for occasional outings: trucks, shared mobility, tourist vehicles all use them. A robust highway charger grid supports all segments and strengthens the ecosystem (fleet electrification, last-mile logistics, etc.).
Signalling commitment - A visible charger every few kilometres on highways sends a strong message: the EV era is trusted and here. It builds user confidence, helps overall adoption.

You send a strong signal: “Yes, we have your back for the long-haul drive.” That signal alone encourages a greater leap into EV ownership.

Policy Recommendation

In summary, the right policy push builds and communicates a credible highway charger backbone and releases a psychological block enabling buyers who are sitting on the fence to say: “Yes, I’ll buy that EV now.” For policy makers, then, the target spacing looks like this: on major national corridors aim for a charger every ~2 km, on other highways every ~5-8 km, while urban deployment can proceed via private investment. Below is a summary of the specific recommendations:

Target spacing goals: Major national corridors (NH + priority SH): charger every ~2 km (government-led). Other highways: charger every ~5-8 km.
Allocate roles: Government budget and incentives for highways, especially in less-commercial stretches. Private sector encouraged/regulated to densify urban & peri-urban markets.
Corridor prioritisation: Focus first on high-traffic routes: the Golden Quadrilateral, NS–EW linkages, major expressways, logistic highways.
Integration with vehicle adoption plans: Set milestone years (e.g., by 2027 have all major corridors covered at ~2 km spacing).
Data-driven expansions: Monitor usage, identify under-utilised chargers (especially in remote SH) and re-deploy or repurpose accordingly.
Urban–highway complementarity: Private market densifies cities; public network de-risks highways; together they unlock full EV adoption for users whose primary use is urban but occasional travel is outside.
Communications and user awareness: Highlight “You can now drive from X to Y without charging worries” campaigns along major routes — reinforcing confidence.

The result? A network that feels continuous and reassuring initially where it matters most—and frees up private investment where it thrives best. This strategy positions the government to fill the infrastructure gap precisely where market forces are weaker, while leaving the fertile urban ground to private enterprise.

The path to mass EV adoption doesn’t lie solely in plugging the city - it lies in plugging the gaps between cities. Once that trust is established, the urban market blossoms. The result: a well-balanced network, higher EV uptake, and a more confident Indian driver and the highway becomes not a barrier, but a bridge.

Attribution: Title image sourced from https://rjt-constructionllc.com/reliable-ev-charger-installer-in-houston

The metaphorical English Babu Desi Mem - Indian Cinema and International Literature

2025-10-07T22:15:00.027+05:30

As I was idling on Social media over the weekend, I chanced upon this video of BR Chopra's interview with his younger brother Yash Chopra where he talks about the only remake in his lifetime - Dastan, which was a remake of his own movie Afsana. And that took me down the rabbit hole ...

As I researched more about Afsana, I discovered that it was a trend setter in many ways:

first of 'double role' with identical twin brothers separated in childhood, an oft-used plot in Indian Cinema;
second one of the first to use the international literature [notably its plot is inspired by The Corsican Brothers];
and third, a pioneer in Film Noir category in Hindi cinema.

What impressed me is that the movies were so well integrated with what was happening on the global scene (even though adapted to the Indian audience). I set out to search more on this subject of how Indian cinema was inspired by literature and film making of the rest of the world. So let me take you through my ruminations and findings.

In 1951, a young B.R. Chopra was making his directorial debut with "Afsana," a film that would not only launch his illustrious career but also establish a trend that would become synonymous with Indian popular cinema – the double role. The film was initially offered to the legendary Dilip Kumar, but the actor declined the opportunity, instead suggesting that an 'older' actor should play the role, paving way for Ashok Kumar to step into what would become one of his most memorable performances, playing the dual role of twin brothers Ratan and Chaman.

Twenty years later, in 1972, Dilip Kumar's regret over declining "Afsana" had grown so profound that he approached B.R. Chopra with a request to remake the film. This request led to the creation of "Dastaan," a scene-by-scene recreation of the original, with Dilip Kumar finally essaying the role that had haunted him for two decades.

The transformation between these two versions reveals the evolution not just of Indian cinema, but of storytelling sensibilities themselves. "Afsana" was crafted as a serious dramatic thriller, embodying all the characteristics of classic film noir with its dark atmosphere, moral ambiguity, and psychological complexity. The film dealt with themes of mistaken identity, moral conflicts, and the consequences of past actions in a manner that reflected the noir tradition's exploration of the human psyche's darker recesses.

Side Note on Film noir

Film noir, a genre that emerged in the shadows of World War II, represents one of cinema's most psychologically complex movements. The term, meaning "black film" in French, was coined by critics who recognized a new darkness permeating American cinema of the 1940s. This movement was characterized by high-contrast lighting that created stark divisions between light and shadow, serving as visual metaphors for the moral ambiguity that defined its characters. The influence of German Expressionism, brought to Hollywood by European filmmakers fleeing the war, created a visual language where oblique camera angles and unbalanced compositions mirrored the moral instability of the narratives.

The archetypal figures of film noir – the morally ambiguous anti-hero, the seductive yet dangerous femme fatale, and the corrupt authority figure – populated stories that questioned the very foundations of justice and morality. Classic examples like "The Maltese Falcon," where private detective Sam Spade navigates a web of deceit surrounding a valuable statuette, or "Double Indemnity," with its tale of insurance fraud and murder born from fatal attraction, established templates that would influence filmmaking for decades.

In "The Big Sleep," Philip Marlowe's investigation through layers of corruption and "Out of the Past," with its fatalistic tale of doomed lovers and inescapable destiny, film noir created a cinematic language for exploring the complexity of human nature and the shadows that lurk within seemingly civilized society. These films shared common themes of betrayal, the corrupting influence of greed, and the question of whether individuals can truly escape their past – themes that would resonate across cultures and inspire filmmakers worldwide.

However, when B.R. Chopra remade "Afsana" as "Dastaan", the treatment underwent a change. While maintaining the same basic plot structure, "Dastaan" incorporated substantial comedic elements, apparently on Dilip Kumar's wishes, shifting the tone from the original's serious film noir atmosphere to a comedy-drama-thriller hybrid. This tonal shift reflected the changing sensibilities of 1970s Indian cinema, where audiences increasingly embraced films that combined multiple genres and comedy was an essential part of popular cinema.

But irony of this transformation was not lost on critics or audiences. While "Afsana" had been a major commercial and critical success that established B.R. Chopra's reputation, "Dastaan" became a commercial dud, marking Dilip Kumar's first significant flop in years. The remake also demonstrated that recreating past success, even with superior star power and the same creative team, is far from guaranteed when the cultural and artistic context has shifted.

The double role tradition that "Afsana" helped establish has deep roots in the history of cinema. Surprisingly, the very first double role in Indian cinema dates back to the silent era with "Lanka Dahan" (1917), where Anna Salunke played both Lord Rama and Sita in this early work by Dadasaheb Phalke. However, this 'double role' was only meant to conform to the social necessities of the era where women were not allowed to act in drama, let alone in movies.

The proper 'double-role' concept for twin brother narratives in Indian cinema can be traced to "Nishan" (1949), directed by S.S. Vasan and inspired by Alexandre Dumas's "The Corsican Brothers". This adaptation marked the beginning of a long relationship between Indian cinema and the works of the French literary giant, whose exploration of themes like honor, revenge, and family bonds resonated deeply with Indian storytelling traditions.

"The Corsican Brothers," published by Dumas in 1844, which Afsana and Dastaan are based on, tells the story of conjoined twin brothers Louis and Lucien de Franchi, who are surgically separated at birth but maintain a mysterious psychic connection throughout their lives. The narrative explores the tragic consequences of the vendetta culture in Corsica, with themes of loyalty, family honor, and the cyclical nature of violence and revenge. The story's blend of romance, adventure, and tragedy, set against the backdrop of Corsican traditions, provided a rich source for adaptation that could be easily transplanted to different cultural contexts.

Indian cinema's engagement with Dumas extended beyond "The Corsican Brothers." Various adaptations drew inspiration from his other works, including "The Count of Monte Cristo," one of literature's greatest tales of betrayal, imprisonment, and elaborate revenge. Specifically 'Jeevan Mrityu' (Hindi, 1970) was loose adaptation of 'The Count of Monte Cristo', while 1954 Tamil 'Karkottai' and Kannada 'Jaladurga' were direct adaptations. The story's themes of justice perverted and ultimately restored, the corrupting influence of power, and the moral complexities of revenge have made it one of the most adapted novels in cinema history as there are several Hollywood adaptations of the novel as well, the most recent being in 2002.

Apart from Dumas, there are other classics which inspired Indian Cinema, most notably "The Prisoner of Zenda", a classic 1894 adventure novel by Anthony Hope. "The Prisoner of Zenda" tells the story of a king who is drugged before his coronation, leading to a lookalike being recruited to impersonate him to prevent the throne from being usurped by an evil relative. While Nishaan (1965) starring Sanjeev Kumar, was explicitly based on "The Prisoner of Zenda", a Bengali film Jhinder Bondi (1961) was based on Saradindu Bandyopadhyay's novel, which was itself adapted from "The Prisoner of Zenda".

Then fifth highest-grossing film of 1964, Rajkumar, starring Shammi Kapur, bears striking similarities to "The Prisoner of Zenda", though the film adapts the story with significant Indian cultural elements and differs in important ways. And a more recent Bollywood adaptation "Prem Ratan Dhan Payo (2015)", was inspired by the 2012 South Korean film "Masquerade," which was itself loosely based on "The Prisoner of Zenda".

There are many other Indian adaptations of European literature like "Tere Mere Sapne" (1971), based on A.J. Cronin's "The Citadel", "Lootera" (2013), inspired by O. Henry's "The Last Leaf", Aisha (2010) based on "Emma" by Jane Austen, Raincoat (2004) based on "The Gift of the Magi" by O. Henry, Raat Aur Din (1967) based on "Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde" by Robert Louis Stevenson, Saawariya (2007) based on "White Nights" by Fyodor Dostoyevsky and finally Angoor (1982) based on "The Comedy of Errors" by William Shakespeare. These movies adapt the universal themes in the source material to Indian cultural lenses.

The influence of European literature on Indian cinema represents just one facet of a larger phenomenon – the cross-cultural migration of stories across the globe. Bollywood has created unique adaptations of European works that Hollywood has never directly filmed, while Hollywood has adapted Indian novels that have never received Bollywood treatment.

Hollywood's direct adaptations of Indian literature include "The White Tiger" (2021) based on Aravind Adiga's novel, 'Victoria & Abdul' adapted from Shrabani Basu’s book "Victoria & Abdul: The True Story of the Queen's Closest Confidant", 'Lion' based on Saroo Brierley’s memoir "A Long Way Home", 'The Namesake' based on Jhumpa Lahiri’s acclaimed novel, and of course, 'Slumdog Millionaire' adapted from Vikas Swarup’s novel "Q & A". Hollywood adaptations often approach these stories from an outsider's perspective, creating interpretations that emphasize aspects different than what Indian filmmakers highlight.

While we talk of Hollywood adaptations, one notable mention is "Life of Pi" - adapted into a critically acclaimed Hollywood film directed by Ang Lee - is based on Yann Martel’s novel, an international work with deep references to Indian culture. And finally, one of the most deserving mentions, probably the only production from Bollywood meant simultaneously for Hollywood audiences - "Guide" (1965), based on R.K. Narayan’s novel - a groundbreaking film that remains uniquely Indian in its cultural representation but also uniquely modern, universal and western (sic) in its outlook.

As we continue to live in an increasingly connected world, the cross-pollination of stories between different film industries and cultural traditions will likely accelerate. I am also hoping to see more Hollywood adaptations of Indian literature, but more so with the Anime, K-drama and K-pop popularity rising in India, more collaborative projects spanning across Bollywood, Hollywood, Indian regional cinema, European, Chinese, Japanese, Korean cinema and so on.

Btw for the uninitiated 'English Babu Desi Mem' is the name of an Hindi movie from 1996 - with a plot and film making style not worthy of being mentioned in this blog post on classics!

The 'Red' history in the 'Green' sector continues ...

2025-08-01T18:37:00.001+05:30

In my post in January 2021, following the farmer protests at the Red fort, I had penned this piece where I postulated that anyone and everyone who has ever tried to "win" over the Lal Quilla has suffered subsequent defeat and obliteration.

I illustrated my point based on the fate of:

Shahjahan - the builder of the fort
Nader Shah - the Persian emperor who's dynasty was wiped out after his win over the Lal quilla
The Maratha's who lost at hands of the Durranis after the fort fell into their protection
The British who lost power in India after they chose the fort as the venue of INA trials

My conclusion is that anyone who touches the fort has suffered a bad fate subsequently - and I believe the curse continued with the Farm protests. After the hoisting of Nishan Sahib at the Red fort in mark of solidarity, the entire Farmer agitation movement just fell apart over the period of a few months. The tractor rally to the fort was the last of the large gatherings which could gain steam:

A peaceful anti-farm law protest was attacked in Bihar.
A Bharat Bandh called on 27 September had limited nation-wide impact.
Violence in multiple smaller rallies turned public perception against the movement.
A tractor march to Parliament on 29 November 2021 was suspended.
And while, the government repealed all three farm bills late November, attempts to use the protests to unseat the government and make a dent in BJPs numbers in the 2024 general elections completely fizzled out.

And in practice — the spirit of the repealed farm laws has been pushed through in many NDA/BJP-ruled states even if not as a coordinated legislative package or in the exact form of the repealed central Acts. Many states — including Madhya Pradesh, Uttar Pradesh, Karnataka, Gujarat, Assam — have amended their APMC Acts to allow private players to procure outside mandis. Similarly, Madhya Pradesh, Uttar Pradesh, and Haryana have allowed contract farming under their own versions of contract farming rules or executive orders.

The last of the 3 farm laws was around Easing stock limits on essential commodities - while States couldn't repeal this law since it was a Central provision, many BJP-ruled states have not enforced tight stock limits on private players since the repeal of the farm laws.

What this means in effect is that even without a national law:

Private players can operate procurement centers outside mandis in many BJP/NDA-ruled states.
Farmers can engage in direct supply contracts with companies.
State enforcement against storage and speculative hoarding has been lax, aligning with the repealed ECA reform.

Thus, the core intent of the farm laws — liberalization of agricultural marketing — has been retained in these states through amendments, executive orders, or administrative leniency, despite the central repeal. The key difference however (post-repeal) is the absence of public fanfare or centralized coordination to contain the political damage from the protests and without appearing insensitive to farmer sentiments. Effectively, while not re-enacted in name, the Modi administration and its allied state governments have substantially pushed the core reforms through state level intervention.

My personal opinion is that these reforms are critical; with Trump breathing down on the government's neck in name of Tariff wars, one of the key negotiation points for the US is giving its own farmers access to Indian markets. While until now the government has not given in to the pressure, but there will come a time when India will have to relent to stop shielding its farmers from International markets. It is only prudent that Indian farmers get ready for that time and modernization, aggregation, corporatization, investment in technology led farming - all are a part of the much needed changes which will ultimately enable Indian farmers to compete with global counterparts.

Aside, getting back to the topic we started with, the hoisting of the Nishaan Sahib at the Red fort precipitated the fall of the farmer movement against the Modi government just like all other previous suitors of the Lal Quilla suffered ultimate disintegration.

Why India’s Manufacturing Boom Will Create More Robots than Blue-Collar Jobs

2025-07-28T20:59:00.002+05:30

In 2016, amid global calls to revive domestic manufacturing, I had argued that government pushes - from Make in India to Make America Great Again - would not spark an employment-led industrial revolution, but rather catalyze automation-led manufacturing transformations. Nine years later, India’s own manufacturing trajectory confirms this prediction with surgical clarity.

Despite record-breaking capital inflows, thriving exports, and the China+1 strategy playing to India’s advantage, job creation in manufacturing has been lackluster. The gap between factory output and factory employment is no longer just a trend - it is now a defining feature of India’s industrial rise.

The False Promise of Mass Job Creation

At the core of India’s manufacturing push lies the Production-Linked Incentive (PLI) scheme, launched with grand ambitions of creating 6 million direct jobs and adding US$500 billion in output by FY27. Yet, by June 2024, only 584,000 direct jobs had materialized—just 36% of the target. Worse still, this limited job growth is concentrated in three sectors - mobile phones, food processing, and pharma - while capital-intensive industries like automotive, solar, and electronics trail behind in employment generation.

The contrast is stark. While output surges - particularly in electronics, where exports are expected to hit ₹3.25 trillion in FY25 - the number of hands on deck is barely growing. The Annual Survey of Industries confirms this: from FY16 to FY23, manufacturing employment grew at a tepid 1.8% CAGR.

The other side of the mirror: Labour's Lament

India’s vast pool of working-age citizens is frequently cited as a “demographic dividend.” But that dividend is turning elusive. Attrition in manufacturing roles remains alarmingly high—over 50% of temporary workers quit within a year, with 10% dropping out in just the first 90 days.

Why? As this article in the Mint states:

Cultural mismatch: Rural migrants struggle with urban food habits, language barriers, and most importantly, regimented factory life.
Welfare disincentives: Programs like MGNREGA and subsidized grains reduce the "reservation wage."
Skill deficit: Only 17% of youth aged 15–29 have formal vocational training.
Rising wage expectations: By 2010, India’s hourly labour costs (US$2.68) already outpaced China’s (US$2.51), undercutting the myth of India’s cheap-labour advantage.

Add to that, the urban infrastructure to support a steady industrial workforce - like dormitories, childcare, and commutes - remains substandard. The outcome? A broken pipeline between policy ambition and labour supply.

The Robot as a savior for manufacturers

As the human workforce falters, robots are stepping in. In 2023 alone, India installed 8,510 industrial robots - a 59% increase YoY - bringing the total operational stock to 44,958, and propelling India to 7th place globally.

This isn’t limited to mega factories. Consider:

Foxconn India: Now uses 2 robotic arms per 10 iPhone assembly workers, up from 1 per 20 in 2016.
Delta Electronics: Tripled its automated SMT lines in Krishnagiri, halving labour per unit.
Tata Steel Kalinganagar: AI vision systems cut defects by 25%, saving ₹1.4 billion annually.

These aren’t just isolated examples - they’re signals of a systemic shift.

India's Leapfrog Moment: The Telecom Analogy

India’s current manufacturing evolution mirrors its telecom transformation from the 2000s. Back then, India leapfrogged from a few million landlines to 1.14 billion mobile users, bypassing copper entirely. Today, it’s bypassing labour-intensive assembly to achieve high-precision, high-output production via automation.

Parameter	Telecom (2000–2025)	Manufacturing (2016–2025)
Innovation	GSM → 4G/5G	Robots, AI, IoT
Outcome	Lowest data rates globally	59% YoY robot installation growth
Jobs	Shift to digital app economy	Shift to mechatronics & data roles
User impact	19.5 GB/month per user	15% CAGR in electronics exports

This “bypass effect” means prosperity is no longer chained to headcount. And that could be the most inclusive outcome of all - one where higher incomes and productivity replace the treadmill of low-skill, low-pay jobs.

India’s fertility rate has fallen below replacement level (2.0), with population growth slowing sharply post-2030. The working-age population is expected to plateau around 2035, and then decline. This fundamentally alters the employment equation: India won’t need more factory jobs—it will need better ones.

India doesn’t need more factory jobs—it will need better ones.

Automation offers exactly that. According to McKinsey, a 10% increase in robot density lifts productivity by 1.4%. Between FY21 and FY24, factory wages rose 51%, outpacing inflation. That’s real income growth - driven by fewer but more skilled workers, not more warm bodies.

From Policy to Perception

For India to fully realize this transformation, we must shed the nostalgic narrative of mass industrial employment and embrace a productivity-first mindset. That means:

Skills shift: Move from generic vocational training to mechatronics, industrial cybersecurity, and AI analytics.
Factory-town reforms: Improve dormitories, urban planning, and female participation via childcare and rental subsidies.
Incentivize Industry 4.0: Extend CAPEX super-deductions and skill tax credits for robotics.

The Torque Wrench Gives Way to the Tablet

India’s factories of the future will not look like 1990s Guangdong. They’ll be lean, automated, sensor-rich, and AI-optimized. This is not a policy failure - it’s a policy opportunity. It calls for equipping workers not for repetitive motion, but for intelligent oversight, system design, and quality assurance.

As I wrote in 2016, the road to industrial revival would not go through the past - it would route through silicon chips, code, and collaborative robots. Nine years later, the writing is no longer on the wall - it’s in the wiring of every smart factory across the subcontinent.

How India Is Chipping Away at Its Fossil-Fuel Dependence — and the Leverage of Foreign Oil Giants

2025-07-23T20:18:00.008+05:30

When I read this recent Livemint piece on how China has methodically diluted the power foreign oil suppliers once held over it, I couldn’t help but tumble down a rabbit hole: How is India doing on the same front? What I found is worth sharing — so here’s a snapshot of how India is working, on multiple fronts, to make sure its oil bill — and the geopolitical pressure that comes with it — keeps shrinking.

India’s energy playbook over the past 15 years reads like a multi-track sprint: put millions of EVs on the road, carpet the countryside with solar panels and wind turbines, squeeze more ethanol into every litre of petrol, revive an ambitious nuclear program, and coax crude from deep-sea rocks that once looked unreachable. The goal is bluntly strategic—trim a crude-import bill that still meets 85% of oil demand and deny potential suppliers the pressure point that New Delhi has worried about since the 1970s oil shocks.

A Quiet EV Boom Accelerates

Annual electric vehicle (EV) sales in India jumped from just 150,000 in 2018 to 1.94 million in 2024. Most of these are two- and three-wheelers — more than a million electric scooters and rickshaws hit Indian streets in FY 2024 alone.

A key driver has been the ₹11,500-crore FAME-II scheme, which knocks up to 40% off sticker prices for mass-market EVs. Extended through July 2024 (with a ₹500 crore boost), FAME-II has helped build a fledgling but fast-growing charging network. Over 25,500 charge points are live — the target is a 5-to-1 EV-to-connector ratio by 2030.

Meanwhile, a parallel ₹44,000-crore production-linked incentive (PLI) plan is pulling battery and electronics manufacturing closer to home, loosening India’s dependence on Chinese supply chains.

Renewables Muscle into the Grid

India’s clean power capacity has quietly quadrupled to 220 GW since 2011, now making up over 42% of total installed capacity. The pace is only picking up: in just the first half of 2025, India added 22 GW of solar and wind — more than some entire OECD blocs. Solar alone has crossed 105 GW, and developers enjoy free interstate transmission for green electrons through 2030 — a big deal for the economics of large projects.

Biofuels and Green Hydrogen: New Pillars

Ethanol blending has hit a monthly peak of 19.8% this year, putting India on track for a nationwide E20 rollout next year — five years ahead of schedule. That’s already meant over ₹1 lakh crore saved in forex and greenhouse gas emissions reduced by 19.2 million tons between 2014 and 2021 alone.

Next up is green hydrogen: under the National Green Hydrogen Mission, India aims to produce 5 million metric tonnes a year by 2030, backed by 125 GW of dedicated renewables — saving another ₹1 lakh crore in fossil imports annually.

Nuclear Power Stages a Comeback

Nuclear energy is getting a second wind, with installed capacity up 70% in a decade. By 2031-32, India plans to push capacity to 22.48 GW, with 21 reactors under construction.

A milestone: the Prototype Fast Breeder Reactor at Kalpakkam has finished fuel loading — when it goes live, India will be only the second country after Russia to run a commercial breeder. A new ₹20,000-crore Nuclear Energy Mission aims for small modular reactors (SMRs) by 2033 and a stretch goal of 100 GW by 2047.

Digging Deeper for Domestic Oil and Gas

While the renewables sprint is real, India is also drilling harder at home. State giant ONGC drilled a 35-year high of 578 wells last year, after naval “No-Go” zones were lifted across offshore acreage.

The company plans to spend ₹1.3 trillion by 2026 to unlock deep and ultra-deep reserves — from the Krishna-Godavari basin to the Andaman Sea. New finds like the “Suryamani” and “Vajramani” could help cushion production declines from India’s aging fields.

The Payoff — and the Road Ahead

Yes, the crude bill is still huge: $160 billion in 2024. Land and grid bottlenecks slow renewable parks; EV chargers are still scarce beyond big cities; nuclear is hostage to cost overruns. But every percentage point shaved off oil imports — whether through ethanol, electrons, uranium, or sodium-cooled breeder reactors — shrinks a vulnerability that’s haunted Delhi since the 1970s oil shocks.

Taken together, India’s multi-pronged push hints that foreign barrels — and the leverage they bring — may slowly but surely be losing their hold on the world’s fastest-growing major economy.

References:

Gratitude: From Economic Power to Military Might

2025-05-07T22:58:00.012+05:30

TLDR;

India’s strike on militant bases following the Pahalgam attack is not just a military response — it’s the culmination of decades of investment in indigenous defense, space, and technological capabilities. This post reflects on the quiet revolution that my generation of Indians has witnessed, the unsung heroes behind it, and why China, not Pakistan, is the real competition India must measure itself against.

Today, India struck 9 militant bases in Pakistan and Pakistan-administered Kashmir in response to the dastardly attack on tourists at Pahalgam in Jammu and Kashmir. As I sat at my home enjoying a cup of tea, made more enjoyable by the unseasonal rains in Mumbai, I felt nothing but a deep sense of gratitude towards so many fellow countrymen who made this possible.

So many of my generation have been witness to the quiet revolution that we have seen in India — not just of economic progress but also of indigenous military superiority. On one hand, we enjoyed the fruits of economic prosperity brought about by liberalization since the 90s; on the other, this economic prosperity would not have been possible without an equivalent investment that the country has made in its own internal and external security.

By the mid-80s, India was in a precarious condition. Militancy was on the rise in Punjab and Kashmir; in fact, our own Prime Minister, Mrs. Indira Gandhi, was assassinated by extremists. When India liberalized under extreme debt, it could have been an easy choice for the then Prime Minister, P.V. Narasimha Rao, and his Finance Minister, Manmohan Singh, to cut down on two 'expendable' spends — the space and missile programs. Pragmatic wisdom would suggest that India could procure both satellite launch services and defense equipment from other 'developed' nations. After all, this was the very path that its arch-enemy Pakistan took.

However, the country did not sacrifice its scientists and its soldiers, even if it meant selling more PSU shares or sending more gold to overseas vaults. The seeds of liberalization bore fruit, and so did the policy of self-reliant space and defense research. When the next Prime Minister, Atal Bihari Vajpayee, decided to conduct nuclear tests, India's defense research came in handy. Its nuclear tests went undetected by the intelligence and satellite networks of global powers, and yet were a demonstration of the prowess of its scientists. And the effects bled Pakistan — financially if not militarily — every time India would test a nuke or a new ballistic missile, Pakistan would turn to its 'friend' China to import their technology and rebrand it as its own.

I am thankful for the quiet resolve of political leaders across the party spectrum for keeping the lights on in India’s indigenous capabilities in space and science.

No lesser is, of course, my gratitude to the scientists working across agencies — from ISRO to HAL, to DRDO, to NPL — you name it. At a salary which is a pittance compared to what each one of them can earn, should they just hop over to even the most mediocre universities in the US or Europe, they have persevered against sanctions, limited budgets (even though extravagant for a developing country like India), and often hardships going beyond just sacrificing family time. These scientists have enabled India to have indigenous capabilities in remote sensing, precision positioning, ballistics, launch capabilities, nuclear and non-nuclear explosives, propulsion, and satellite navigation — each one of these critical for the kind of mission undertaken by the Indian defense forces today.

And finally, the supreme honour and gratitude, of course, goes to India’s heroes in uniform, the defense and paramilitary forces. Their sacrifices both during peace and war, their unrelenting determination to keep every inch of this country free of invasion, and their professionalism to keep the flag of democracy high by simply doing their duty when asked, is not just commendable but imitable and worth bowing one’s head towards (the appropriate phrase could only be better paraphrased in Hindi as उनका शौर्य और कर्तव्य के प्रति उनकी निष्ठा, उनके समक्ष नतमस्तक होनॆ पर विवश करते है).

The real competition

What this episode also brings to light is that the real competition to India is China and not Pakistan. Pakistan’s defense capabilities — whether in weapons or strategic might — are based on the implicit support China has lent to it all these years. India’s indigenous efforts are competing with Chinese indigenous efforts, which have been exported clandestinely to Pakistan in the military sphere.

But when you look at them directly, China has surged far ahead of India in all the key spheres — whether it’s space or military technologies, infrastructure, or even civilian technologies like self-driving vehicles and fast trains. And hence, that is the real competition Indians need to be chasing against.

As we sit under the warmth of the Indian tricolor, let’s remember: true strength comes not just from weapons, but from the quiet, decades-long resolve of a nation determined to stand on its own feet.

How Our Economic System is Hardwiring Inequality Into the Future

2025-04-16T23:35:00.000+05:30

Prologue

I visited the BMC Building market in Powai - this is a run down building built by the Municipal corporation for small businesses and shops. The vision was to build an equivalent of the Sim-Lim square in Singapore - when it was constructed, it had escalators, elevators and air-conditioned corridors. However, over the years, the escalators stopped working due to lack of maintenance, and leases expired and rentals fell rapidly during the Covid-19 pandemic, after which the air-conditioning broke down and recently one out of the two elevators also broke down.

Today when I visited the place, it was stinking of human sweat (its high-summer season in Mumbai) and the lack of air-conditioning made it worse. The staircase was so dirty that I did not feel like taking it, so I took the lift, but as soon as I boarded the lift, I regretted my decision. The lift was occupied by 5 delivery runners, two of them carrying dairy and one of them carrying meat - the stench in the lift was even more obnoxious than the stairs. Thankfully it was just one floor - as I was walking out of the lift, I saw another batch of 7 delivery boys waiting to board it on its way back up. I walked out of the stinking corridor, and almost sprinted to my car parked across the road. As I entered my car and switched on the AC, I felt a strange sense of relief and mental cleansing. It was almost as if going to the building was like taking a dip in the gutter!

As I reflected back, I realized the conditions which the delivery boys worked in all the time, while their services made my own life so much more convenient. A small minority of wealthy techies and corporate employees today demands so much luxury that whole industries have sprung up around fulfilling their needs - from food and grocery delivery, to home based spa and beauty treatment services. Over the years the delivery business has skyrocketed, it accelerated during Covid-19 when we were forced to be locked at home, but the habit just continued. Today you can even get a single can of soft drink or a bowl of soup delivered at a marginal delivery cost, while the restaurant can still charge you a premium for the food. This has led to a growth in people employed in these sectors, but at what cost?

This whole experience got me thinking about the world we are increasingly becoming - incomes are rising across the globe, the rich are becoming richer, but poor are not becoming any better off. The pay that people employed in these sectors get is barely enough to scrape a living in cities which they migrate to. At the same time, if these workers were to be paid more, the demand for their services will reduce drastically leading to their jobs getting obliterated. Its a strange dichotomy where they can either just survive at low wages or perish without a livelihood. There is no way for these poor to rise up the social or economic ladder.

Thesis

We are entering a dark new phase of global development.

While global incomes have risen and poverty reduction continues in statistical terms, a deeper divide is crystallizing - one that separates the producers of everyday necessities from the profiteers of luxury and specialization. The current economic trajectory favors capital-intensive, elite-driven automation fueled industries while suppressing the livelihoods of those in essential but tightly controlled sectors.

In this post, I try to explore various interrelated ideas:

Why wage stagnation persists in essential sectors like farming, delivery, and mining
How government and market forces suppress prices—and incomes—in mass employment sectors
Where the exponential wealth curve is headed and why it's deeply unsustainable

1. The Inversion of Value: When Essentials Are Cheap, So Are Their Producers

The global economy is experiencing a paradox: while luxury products surge in value, the basics remain artificially affordable.

Luxury inflation vs. subsistence stagnation: Goods like art, tech gadgets, and high-end experiences are becoming status symbols whose prices reflect exclusivity and branding. In contrast, staple goods—food, clothing, basic utilities—are intentionally kept affordable through subsidies, regulation, and price controls.
The cost of keeping basics cheap: To maintain affordability, input costs must stay low. That often means suppressing wages for those who grow, mine, transport, or assemble these essentials.
Structural suppression of income: Studies confirm a large income disparity between farmers and urban populations in low-income nations, with urban incomes typically multiple times higher than rural farming incomes. This is farmers despite producing the majority of food consumed both domestically and abroad.

This is not just the result of market dynamics, but of deliberate structural design of our policies from post WW-II economic era which we haven't revised since.

2. Essential Sectors Designed to Stagnate: Agriculture, Manufacturing, Mining, and Mass Services

Let’s take a closer look at the sectors that employ the majority of the world’s population—and why they remain trapped in low-income realities.

Agriculture: Controlled from Seed to Sale

Most governments impose price ceilings, regulate seed distribution, and control land ownership in the name of food security.
In countries like India and China, over 40% of the workforce is engaged in agriculture, yet the sector contributes less than 20% to GDP.
According to the FAO, the real income of smallholder farmers has declined or remained stagnant in over 60% of developing nations over the last two decades.

Mass Manufacturing and Mining: Race to the Bottom

Global supply chains are optimized to minimize labor costs. From garment factories in Bangladesh to lithium mines in the Congo, workers are commoditized.
Automation and low-cost outsourcing mean that laborers must compete not for growth, but for survival.

Mass Services: The Invisible Infrastructure

Gig workers, drivers, cleaners, and delivery personnel form the backbone of the consumer economy.
A 2023 ILO report showed that while demand for these services grew, real wages declined in many cities due to platform exploitation and lack of labor protections.

These sectors are designed to keep prices (and thus wages) low—ironically trapping the very people they rely on.

3. The Infinite Upside of Specialization: The Rise of the Exponential Class

Now contrast that with the industries that thrive on scarcity and specialization.

A Michelin-starred chef or a crypto developer can earn in a year what a farmer might in a lifetime—not because they work harder, but because their outputs are rare, branded, and consumed by the wealthy.
Tech startups, biotech firms, and luxury brands have low employment density but high profit margins. The result? Enormous wealth concentration in the hands of a few.

As Thomas Piketty argued in Capital in the Twenty-First Century, when return on capital > economic growth, inequality is inevitable. We're watching that unfold now.

And the danger isn’t just economic—it’s societal.

Toward a Dystopian Future: A World on the Exponential Curve
We are witnessing a shift from the normal distribution—where most people clustered around a median—to an exponential curve, where most people languish while a select few soar. This led me back to the scenes of the Matt Damon starrer - Elysium where the rich live in mid-air luxury enclaves powered by AI, drone transport, and climate control, while the poor perish in the ground-level labor colonies plagued by disease, overpopulation, and climate-induced resource scarcities.

But with the trends I have outlined above, this may not remain science fiction - it’s the logical extension of current trends. If current policies continue, the economy will no longer be a ladder, but a chasm.

How Do We Fix It? The Economic and Moral Imperative

If the system is broken by design, it must be redesigned. Some policy solutions like Universal Basic Income and minimum wage already exist. However, many of these policies may also backfire because they will increase the wages at which labor will be available, thus exacerbating the use of automation (drones, AI, self driving cars etc.) replacing human labor.

To counter these we need to add mandatory social security to all workers in form of free education and basic healthcare. With these two livelihood basics sorted, the poor get an opportunity to reskill themselves and pull themselves out of poverty so that they can move into more value added work and reap the benefits of automation and AI tools rather than be replaced by them.

And at the same time to redistribute exponential wealth without crushing innovation, we need to improve our grip on progressive taxation systems which has been weakened by recent laws. We need to ensure that the wealthy are incentivized to part with their wealth by engaging in philanthropy and redistribution rather than hoarding it for future generations.

And finally, we need a cultural shift away from pure Capitalism to decentralized ownership models, such as cooperatives and community land trusts, can help democratize wealth. Adoption of the blockchain and micropayments based economy can help revive the cooperative sector without risking it into degenerating into communism.

In conclusion:

The world doesn’t need to become a techno-feudal dystopia—but it might, unless we act.
.

The Bitcoin Strategic Reserve: A Catalyst for Global Economic Transformation

2025-03-08T14:00:00.005+05:30

Photo by Traxer on Unsplash

The establishment of a Bitcoin Strategic Reserve by the U.S. government marks a significant shift in global economic strategy, with profound implications for the world economic order. This initiative, part of a broader set of executive actions by President Donald Trump, aims to leverage Bitcoin as a digital asset to bolster the U.S. currency and potentially redefine the role of the dollar in international trade.

The Bitcoin Strategic Reserve is designed to treat Bitcoin as a reserve asset which is similar to gold, but with the added benefits of being a digital, algorithmically scarce resource. This approach aligns with historical precedents where gold served as a global settlement currency before the U.S. dollar took over, suggesting that Bitcoin could play a similar role in the future.

The establishment of a Bitcoin Strategic Reserve by the U.S. is expected to have far-reaching global implications. Brazil, Russia, and Poland are already exploring similar initiatives, and this move by the US is likely to set a precedent for other nations, particularly G20 countries, to reassess their stance on cryptocurrency reserves.

A new world economic order?

JD Vance, now the Vice President of the United States, highlighted the complexities of the dollar's reserve status, in a Senate hearing in 2023: "dollars reserve currency status is a … massive tax on American producers. I know the strong dollar is sort of the sacred cow of the Washington consensus, but when I survey the American economy, and I see our mass consumption of mostly useless imports on the one hand, and our hollowed-out industrial base on the other hand, I wonder if the reserve currency status also has some downsides, and not just some upsides as well." This underscores the potential drawbacks of maintaining the dollar as a global reserve currency, including its impact on American producers and the industrial base.

While the Bitcoin Strategic Reserve (BSR) is not intended to dedollarize global trade flows, it could lead to a gradual de-dollarization of the global economy, challenging the post-World War II economic order established by the Bretton Woods system, the Washington Consensus and the WTO style globalization policy which pervades the entire global economic order. Irrespective of BSR, there are other routes towards dedollarization like Europe pushing for a movement to Euro, Russia and India moving to a ruble-rupee interchange and China using its influence to get Yuan accepted in trade settlements. But all of these other dedollarization initiatives present the same risks as using the Dollar. But as more countries consider their own Bitcoin reserves, international trade might shift toward Bitcoin or other cryptocurrencies (stablecoins?). This transition could enhance stability and efficiency in global transactions by reducing reliance on a (potentially) depreciating asset i.e. any Fiat currency, whether its the U$ Dollar or any other fiat currency.

The adoption of cryptocurrencies in international trade could lead to a more diverse and resilient global economy. However, this shift also raises concerns about regulatory frameworks, market volatility, and potential economic risks. As countries explore alternatives to traditional reserve currencies, they must navigate these challenges while ensuring stability and growth in the global economy.

The first step towards this new economic order will be to move towards Bitcoin reserves, but it is equally essential for all countries to legalize and regulate cryptocurrencies and step away from draconian taxation of crypto assets; and evolve AML and associated regulations to include cryptocurrencies. Integrating the banking systems to provide a "common window" for transacting with and between fiat currencies and crypto currencies will be an essential fourth step.

Countries who drag their feet on these matters will not only suffer as governments seeing the value of their existing national reserves depreciate, they will also make their populations poorer by preventing them from participating in probably the largest wealth creation opportunity of this millennium.

References:

Who was Vikramaditya?

2025-01-15T20:35:00.002+05:30

Screen grab from the popular Indian TV serial of the 90s: Vikram-Betal

As I have written in my previous post here, Vikramaditya was not just the founder of the Vikram Samvat Calendar still in use in Indian subcontinent, but also a fabled king who is considered the benchmark when it comes to principles of governance. He captures popular public imagination even today, as the yardstick by which matters of jurisprudence and social justice are measured.

But there is no historical clarity on who Vikram was - and I try to explore various dimensions of the mystery.

The period after Ashoka and the Decline of the Maurya Dynasty

The Maurya Dynasty, founded by Chandragupta Maurya in 322 BCE, reached its zenith under Ashoka the Great (268–232 BCE). Ashoka’s reign was marked by territorial expansion, Buddhist patronage, and administrative brilliance. However, after his death, the empire began to disintegrate:

Internal Weakness: Ashoka’s successors lacked his vision and authority, leading to administrative inefficiency.
Economic Strain: The vast empire required immense resources, which became unsustainable over time.
Foreign Invasions: Regional governors and foreign invaders capitalized on the empire’s vulnerabilities.

By the late 2nd century BCE, the Mauryan Empire had fragmented into smaller kingdoms. The political vacuum left by the Mauryas paved the way for new dynasties like the Shungas and Kanvas.

Vikramaditya as Ashoka’s successor

One hypothesis suggests that Vikramaditya was related to Ashoka, perhaps as a son or descendant. However, several factors disprove this claim:

Chronological Discrepancy: The Mauryan decline occurred well before the Vikram Samvat (57 BCE). Ashoka himself reigned in the 3rd century BCE.
Different Legacies: While Ashoka’s legacy is deeply tied to Buddhism, the legends of Vikramaditya focus on Hindu cultural and political ideals.
Historical Silence: There is no evidence linking Ashoka’s descendants to Ujjain, the city central to Vikramaditya’s legend.

Who Was Ruling India During the Vikram Samvat Era?

The timeline surrounding 57 BCE places India in a period of political flux:

Kanva Dynasty: Vasudeva Kanva, founder of the Kanva Dynasty, overthrew the last Shunga ruler in 73 BCE. The Kanvas ruled from Pataliputra (modern Patna) and retained control over Magadha and parts of central India.
Shaka Invaders: The Shakas, part of the Indo-Scythian tribes, had begun establishing themselves in western and northern India, displacing local rulers.
Regional Powers: In Ujjain and nearby regions, smaller tribes like the Malavas may have exerted influence, potentially resisting Shaka expansion.

This fragmented political landscape makes it difficult to pinpoint a single ruler who could correspond to Vikramaditya.

Details About the Shakas, Shungas, and Kanvas

The Shakas (Indo-Scythians)

The Shakas were nomadic tribes originating from Central Asia. They migrated to India following pressure from other tribes, such as the Yuezhis:

Territorial Expansion: By 57 BCE, the Shakas controlled significant parts of western India, including Gujarat and Rajasthan.
Cultural Influence: They integrated with local traditions, contributing to the fusion of Indian and Central Asian art and culture.

The Shunga Dynasty

The Shungas emerged after Pushyamitra Shunga assassinated the last Mauryan emperor in 185 BCE:

Capital: Pataliputra (modern Patna).
Military Success: Pushyamitra repelled Greek invasions, securing his northern borders.
Decline: By the late 2nd century BCE, the dynasty weakened, eventually succumbing to the Kanvas.

The Kanva Dynasty

The Kanvas ruled from 73 BCE to 28 BCE after overthrowing the Shungas:

Vasudeva Kanva: Founder of the dynasty.
Territorial Reach: Their influence extended over Magadha but likely included central India, including Ujjain.
Decline: The Kanvas were eventually overthrown by the Satavahanas, marking the end of their brief reign.

The Political Capital of Ancient Dynasties

One of the key challenges in identifying Vikramaditya is the mismatch between the legends and historical capitals:

Mauryas: The Mauryan Empire’s administrative center was Pataliputra, not Ujjain.
Shungas and Kanvas: Both dynasties ruled from Magadha, with no evidence of Ujjain as their political seat.
Shakas: While the Shakas controlled parts of western India, they did not establish Ujjain as their capital.

This geographical inconsistency complicates attempts to associate historical rulers with the Ujjain-centric legend of Vikramaditya.

Hypotheses About Vikramaditya’s Identity

Hypothesis 1: Vasudeva Kanva

Chronology: Vasudeva Kanva ruled during the period associated with the Vikram Samvat’s founding.
Military Context: If Vasudeva repelled a Shaka invasion, the calendar could commemorate his victory.
Territorial Connection: Ujjain may have been under Kanva influence.

Analysis: While plausible, there is no direct evidence linking Vasudeva Kanva to the Vikram Samvat. His rule from Pataliputra further complicates this association.

Hypothesis 2: The Malava Tribe

Tribal Identity: The Malavas were active in the Ujjain region, possibly initiating the calendar as a collective achievement.
Connection to Ujjain: Their geographic ties align with the legend.

Analysis: This hypothesis shifts the focus from an individual ruler to a regional community, but it diminishes the centrality of Vikramaditya as a legendary king.

Hypothesis 3: A Shunga or Maurya King

Pushyamitra Shunga: The Shunga founder defended northern India from foreign invaders, potentially inspiring Vikramaditya’s legend.
Later Mauryas: Ashoka’s descendants, though weaker, may have contributed to Ujjain’s prominence.

Analysis: While intriguing, the timelines of the Shunga and Maurya dynasties do not perfectly align with the Vikram Samvat’s origin in 57 BCE.

The Mystery of Vikram Samvat’s Founding

The founding of the Vikram Samvat remains one of India’s greatest historical enigmas:

Lack of Contemporary Records: The absence of inscriptions or coins commemorating its establishment leaves historians reliant on later, often mythological sources.
Symbolic Narratives: The tales of Vikramaditya may have been constructed to provide a heroic context for the calendar’s origin.
Cultural Significance: The calendar’s continued relevance underscores its importance, even as its origins remain uncertain.

Epilogue

The story of Vikramaditya and the Vikram Samvat exemplifies the intricate interplay of history and mythology in Indian tradition. Despite the absence of definitive evidence, Vikramaditya endures as a symbol of ideal kingship and cultural unity.

While hypotheses about his identity link him to the Kanvas, Shungas, or Mauryas, none provide conclusive answers. Ultimately, the legend of Vikramaditya transcends historical inquiry, embodying values of justice, valor, and wisdom that continue to inspire.

What is more likely is that Vikramaditya being a much smaller local satrap than an emperor or even regional king, who's tales gained more wool as time passed. Successive historians and authors may have found the legends of Vikramaditya worth expanding upon and they probably added more mythical layers to the legend, adding their own imaginations to the existing tales.

It is however a topic worthy of deeper research via archeological and palaeographical methods to uncover the identity of Vikramaditya as he is one ruler who's impressions by the way of Vikram Samvat as well as historical tales impact India event today.

Vikramaditya - Myth or Reality

2025-01-02T19:46:00.007+05:30

A statue of Vikramaditya at Vikramaditya ka Tila / Vikramaditya's Singhasan Battisi

On a recent visit to Ujjain, I found myself drawn to the city's extraordinary blend of history, mythology, and spirituality. As I stood before the Mahakaleshwar Jyotirlinga, I reflected on its significance as one of India’s most revered shrines. Yet, amidst these sacred surroundings, I encountered narratives of Vikramaditya - the legendary king of Ujjain, celebrated for his valor and wisdom, who's name resonates from the folklore of locals to every part of India. Every time we celebrate a festival in India, it is marked with a tithi i.e. date as per the Indian calendar - which is called the Vikram Samvat calendar, attributed to being founded by Vikramaditya of Ujjaini (the then name of Ujjain).

What struck me, however, was the curious fact that despite Vikramaditya’s pivotal place in Indian cultural memory, his existence as a historical figure lacks definitive evidence. My exploration led to several questions: Who was Vikramaditya? Was he truly the founder of the Vikram Samvat, a calendar still in use today? Could he be linked to historical rulers like the Mauryas, Shungas, or Kanvas?

The Vikram Samvat and its Present-Day Significance

The Vikram Samvat is one of the oldest calendar systems in the world, beginning in 57 BCE. It is a lunisolar calendar that combines lunar months with solar years, and it remains integral to cultural and religious life in the Indian subcontinent. The calendar is widely used to determine the dates for Hindu and Jain festivals, temple rituals, and astrological charts.

Even today, the Hindu New Year is celebrated according to the Vikram Samvat in the subcontinent. Unlike other ancient calendars which are either lunar or solar, and hence lack precision in terms of world events, the Vikram Samvat is lunisolar, so it covers tidal movements as well as solar events - it covers for the discrepancy in both calendars by adding an additional month every 4 years called the adhik maas or the surplus month (this is similar to how February has a 29th day every leap year in the Gregorian calendar). Beyond its practical function, the calendar is seen as a cultural artifact symbolizing a historical and moral ethos.

According to tradition, the Vikram Samvat was established by King Vikramaditya of Ujjain to mark his victory over the Shakas, Indo-Scythian tribes who had invaded northern India. This association makes Vikramaditya a key figure in India’s historical imagination, even as scholars struggle to establish his historical identity.

However, while the Shakas are established historical tribe, there is no clear historical evidence for the identity of Vikramaditya.

Vikram's significance beyond the Vikram Samvat

Apart from the Vikram Samvat, Vikramaditya is celebrated as the ideal king - a paragon of justice, wisdom, and valor. Several legends glorify Vikramaditya, portraying him as a larger-than-life figure:

The Shaka Conquest: The most famous legend recounts how Vikramaditya defeated the Shakas, establishing the Vikram Samvat in 57 BCE as a commemoration of his victory.
The Simhasana Dvatrimsika: This series of tales revolves around a magical throne once belonging to Vikramaditya, adorned with 32 statues narrating his unparalleled virtues.
Baital Pachisi: These tales depict Vikramaditya's adventures with a spirit named Baital, showcasing his wisdom, courage, and problem-solving abilities.
Association with Ujjain: Vikramaditya is invariably tied to Ujjain, a historical and cultural hub, reinforcing his legend as the ruler of this sacred city.
Cultural Patronage: His court is said to have included the Navaratnas (Nine Gems), including the poet Kalidasa, marking a golden age of arts and learning.

Vikramaditya is a timeless archetype in Indian folklore and tradition. His tales, preserved in texts like the "Simhasana Dvatrimsika" (Thirty-two Tales of the Throne) and "Baital Pachisi" (Twenty-five Tales of Baital), portray him as an ideal ruler- just, courageous, and wise. He is celebrated as a protector of dharma (righteousness) and a king who upheld truth and justice.

For centuries, the figure of Vikramaditya has served as a benchmark for kingship in Indian culture. His tales transcend historical inquiry, serving as timeless symbols of dharma (righteousness) and rajadharma (kingly duties). While his historicity is debated, his cultural impact is undeniable, making him a pivotal figure in shaping the Indian idea of governance and morality.

The Mystery

Despite the vivid legends, there is no archaeological or inscriptional evidence from the 1st century BCE to substantiate Vikramaditya's existence as a historical figure:

Lack of Contemporary Records: No inscriptions, coins, or texts from the period around 57 BCE mention a king named Vikramaditya or connect him with the founding of the Vikram Samvat.
Later Usage of the Title: The title Vikramaditya was adopted by several historical rulers, most notably Chandragupta II Vikramaditya of the Gupta Dynasty (375–415 CE), who also defeated the Shakas. This suggests that the title may have been retroactively applied to earlier legends.
Mythological Nature of Sources: The earliest textual references to Vikramaditya appear centuries after the supposed events, blending folklore with historical narrative.

So who was Vikramaditya - the founder of the calendar still in use in India, and a celebrated 'ideal' king who is held as a benchmark in Indian ethos?

Continued in the next post

Of Business Ethic and Ethics

2024-10-12T14:06:00.003+05:30

Cover of book on Mr. Ratan Tata

The chairman of Tata Trusts and former chairman of Tata Sons, Mr. Ratan Tata, passed away on the 10th of October. The last two days have been filled with coverage of Mr. Tata's contributions to the country, the economy, and the global business world. Numerous articles and reports highlight his contribution primarily as a great philanthropist who worked for the cause of ethical business, which the Tata Group has been known for over the last 100+ years. While narrating how Mr. Tata's contribution was acknowledged in her school, even my daughter told me that they were told Mr. Tata was a great philanthropist.

I have been a little taken aback because most media and people have focused on his philanthropy and not his business achievements or entrepreneurship-related activities. This got me thinking about how I view the transformation that Mr. Tata brought about during his tenure as chairman of Tata Sons, where his contribution was far more pronounced on work and business Ethic than just the Ethics.

Business Ethics

The term "Business Ethics" takes me back 20 years, to my Business School days where we were taught the subject of Business Ethics in one of the most innovative ways I have ever experienced. To be honest, when I first read the name of the subject as part of our course outline, I cringed at the thought of attending another moral science class. But our professor, Dr. Dhun Dastur [1] (another Parsi, by the way, like Mr. Tata), had a very unique way of teaching the subject of business ethics. Looking back, I can confidently say this was probably the most interesting and fun pedagogy across all the MBA subjects. Dr. Dastur's way of teaching us business ethics was to give us a full theatre experience of some of the most iconic Hollywood movies showcasing business and entrepreneurship - our course content consisted of watching, researching, and then analyzing and debating movies like Erin Brockovich, Jerry Maguire, and of course, Wall Street.

Remember, this was the early 2000s when streaming media was not yet invented, and the only way to get access to good movies was by renting video cassettes and later CDs from the local video shop and watching them at home in front of the whole family. Watching movies on the computer by loading a CD was just a few years old concept, which is why, unless the movie was either called out as a blockbuster (for example, Jurassic Park), it was unlikely that we would have watched it. Long story short, this was my first exposure to Gordon Gekko, Jerry Maguire, or Erin Brockovich.

For those who don't know the plot of these movies, all three of them focused more on what business ethics is not than what business ethics is. And indeed, that's the best way to teach young students about business ethics — how your entire world can fall apart on you when you are rising too fast and making billions like Bud and Gordon Gekko, or how you relate to the guilt that Jerry undergoes towards the second half of the movie, or how Chemical pollution impacting the community is as much a crime as the Holocaust, are the best ways to explain business ethics to a bunch of students in their 20s.

However, when you look at what the Tatas have achieved, it is not merely the avoidance of incorrect business practices but a perpetual tradition of combining wealth generation with social good, either in the form of philanthropy or in the form of institution building. Some of the most iconic institutes in India, whether it is the IISc or TIFR or TISS, were founded by the Tatas with their own money and later gifted to the nation once they were built. This goes well beyond the limited confines of donating your wealth to charity but into defining what it means to do ethical business and investing business growth into social good.

Another aspect of ethics exemplified by the Tatas is the spirit of co-option, cooperation, and camaraderie with other business groups rather than rivalry with any of the competitors. The Tatas have so many joint collaborations with other companies across the globe. But what stands out is that irrespective of the status of the joint venture, the ultimate enterprises are always run with a very high degree and standard of corporate governance and values. One of the most striking examples of this was the bailout of Tata Finance [2]. There are so many companies within the Tata Group where Tatas may not own the majority stake, however, they undertake the responsibility to ensure extremely high standards of corporate governance. This, in my opinion, has been the greatest contribution of the Tata Group to the entire industry, as being the standard-bearer for what good corporate governance should look like. Prudent Corporate governance is probably the more important part of business ethics, than philanthropy alone.

Lastly, one personal aspect of Mr. Tata's journey worth mentioning ethics is at the very beginning of his working career when he returned to India from Cornell. For someone like him, coming from a wealthy background and having received education at an elite US school, it was quite easy to join an Investment Banking firm in the Wallstreet and live a life of comforts, until the decks were cleared to simply join the the Tata's back later in life as a board member. However, he chose an unpretentious path of utmost perseverance, firstly returning to his motherland and then joining as a common executive learning the ropes ground up and rising up the ranks like a commoner. That patriots don't just fight at your borders, but the attitude is reflected across aspects of life, was exemplified by the young Ratan with his deeds.

Ratan Tata, in his actions and his deeds, not only continued but amplified and improved upon this aspect of business ethics throughout his career and association with the business world. However ...

Business Ethic

Tata's have always been known for their high standards of ethics and corporate governance, but what Mr. Ratan Tata contributed more, not just to the Tata Group in particular, but to the entire Indian business ecosystem in general, was his drive for dynamism in the corporate work culture in India. When Mr. Tata took over the reins of the Tata Group, the shadow of his predecessor JRD Tata loomed very large over the group, and more importantly, Ratan was one of the younger executives in the larger Tata Group. Tata Group cash houses like Telco (which is now called Tata Steel), Tata Chemicals and Indian Hotels (the famed 'Taj' brand) were helmed by Russi Mody, Darbari Seth and Ajit Kerkar (the so-called ‘satraps’). This was the early 90s when the Tata Group's imprint was quite similar to the state of the larger Indian economy per se. Just like the economy had large but slowing down and archaic public sector units (PSUs) running the country's sluggish economy, Tata Group's businesses were not very different, and more importantly, the leadership itself was ageing, tepid, and bureaucratic in its decision-making. While it took him some time, but slowly and steadily, and then rapidly, the young Ratan infused a different kind of entrepreneurial spirit within the Tata Group's endeavors. He pushed for modernization, he pushed for greater risk-taking, he pushed for an impetus on innovation within the group, and he pushed to meet the needs and aspirations of a young India that, thanks to the liberalized economic policies of the government, was also embracing change at a very thirsty pace. [3]

In this journey to inject the group with the spirit of risk-taking and innovation, Mr. Tata suffered many setbacks. Many of his projects and investments did not bear fruit at first attempt and were often declared dead upon arrival by the old guard within the group. But he fought on and ultimately prevailed, and his experiments started seeing success - whether it was the plunge into the private vehicle space with the Tata Indica, or his focus on affordable transportation with the Tata Nano, or his drive to acquire larger global international enterprises, like Tetley, which in some cases were larger than the original businesses that the Tata Group was running within the confines of India. Mr. Tata's career was written off several times repeatedly, even after he gained success in his previous overtures.

There is a lot to read about his business success, and hence I am not going to repeat them. What I will conclude with is that the tapestry of the Tata Group footprint that we see today — a global conglomerate with business interests in several countries (notably it is the largest business group in the UK, which was the former master of its colony in India, which the Tatas call their home) — driven forward in businesses from electrical vehicles to contributions in space technology, telecom, internet services, and most importantly, information technology services, F&B retail, F&B wholesale, and fashion retail, is radically forward looking and future ready, compared to the group that he inherited.

The last and probably most important contribution of Mr. Tata has been to take responsible risks in the area of succession planning. Mr. Tata allowed Cyrus Mistry to become the first non-Tata surname chairman of the Tata Group, an experiment that did not bode well, just like several of his other business experiments. But like always, he did not let this one failure deter him from bringing in N. Chandrasekaran, another non-Tata and, more importantly, not from the owning families of the Tata Trust, to be nominated as the next chairman. And I am sure the last few years of the Tata Group's performance are evidence of the fact that his faith in continuing his experiment has paid off this time as well, just like it paid off in his other business ventures. Tata Group is in able hands and led by a strong philosophical base that it cannot lose its way again.

In closing, there is so much to learn from the Tatas, and Mr. Ratan Tata in particular, on how to do ethical business, but there is an equal amount of learning to be had by studying the way he transformed the Tata Group and its businesses for entrepreneurs and business leaders who want to get inspired to take risks in a responsible manner, yet with the conviction to succeed.

What does Bangladesh crisis, general election results in Kashmir, and regional politics in India have in common?

2024-08-06T19:39:00.023+05:30

Photo courtesy - Reuters

Bangladesh is undergoing a political crisis at the moment - the Prime Minister Sheikh Haseena, who was re-elected in an election which was boycotted by the main opposition party, has abdicated her position and the military has moved in to take reigns of the government. While the immediate development is clearly a jolt to democracy in Bangladesh, it hints towards a significant shift in the political landscape across South Asia, particularly in the Indian subcontinent.

The ouster of Sheikh Hasina in Bangladesh, the declining dominance of the National Conference party led by the Abdullah dynasty in Jammu and Kashmir, and the loss of power by the Congress party in India, all point to a common trend: the fall of dynastic politics and the emergence of leaders from non-elite backgrounds.

Historically, during the British Raj, royals from princely states colluded with the British crown for continuance of the Raj and their own kingdoms, while oppressing their own populations. These royals and the British were often opposed by elite from their own states who were were well educated, albeit sometimes even in Britain, but opposed to the British rule. Many of these elites were aristocrats like zamindars and some from former royal lineage like subedars and local satraps, but no longer belonging to immediate family of the ruling royal monarch. Few were also from from affluent households who got wealth in inheritance.

In the initial years of independence, these elite provided much-needed leadership to the young nation(s). Leaders like Jawaharlal Nehru and Mohammad Ali Jinnah came from elite families. Similarly, Sheikh Mujibur Rahman considered the 'founder' of Bangladesh (titled popularly as Bongabandhu), belonged to an elite aristocratic family. Sheikh Abdulla, was the Sadr-e-Riyasat aka Prime Minister of the Maharajah of J&K in the initial years of independence.

The families and dynastic successors of these elite leaders continued to retain political power across national and regional governments in the subcontinent. Nehru was followed by his daughter Indira, who was followed by her son Rajiv; Sheikh Abdulla's son Farooq and then his son Omar both became Chief ministers of Jammu & Kashmir; and Sheikh Haseena, daughter of Mujibur Rehman was the Prime Minister for a combined total of over 20 years.

However today, Nehru's grandson Rahul, and his family, are relegated to a minority in the Parliament. In contrast Prime Minister Modi is as un-elite as one can get, epitomizing being a new age leader with no elite family background. The Congress party in India is surviving only on the crutches of a coalition of regional parties. Even in regional parties, dynastic leaders are facing setbacks and are trying to survive somehow.

The recent general elections in Kashmir have also been particularly noteworthy. Neither Modi's party BJP (which was credited with abrogation of Article 370), nor the Abdullah dynasty's National Conference emerged victorious. Instead, a jailed non-descript common leader, Engineer Rashid, won a parliamentary seat. Rashid was an engineer in the state government-run Jammu and Kashmir Projects Construction Corporation. He is seen a simple man, dressed in Khan suit, taking public transportation and occasionally hitching rides on motor cycles. His victory highlights the growing disillusionment with dynastic politics and the desire for change among the people of Kashmir.

Even in other parts of the India, the trend against dynasty can be seen. In Punjab for example, the dynastic Badal family (which inherited the reigns from the revered Shiromani Akali Dal political party) faces backlash and near oblivion from politics; in Maharashtra Eknath Shinde rebelled against Uddhav Thakare who again is considered a dynast trying to retain power within his party Shiv Sena only because he is the son of the founder Balasaheb. In UP, Mayawati who herself was self-made politician is losing relevance as soon as she tried to pass the baton to her nephew; and Mamata Banerjee similarly faces opposition every time she tries to anoint her nephew as her political heir.

And the current hot potato Bangladesh is seeing ouster of Sheikh Hasina being considered an autocratic leader, with the recent election boycott followed by widespread rioting over decisions of her government forcing her to flee the country.

This trend of moving away from dynastic politics is a positive development overall, despite the potential for short-term emergencies, military coups, and anarchism. It represents a shift towards a more inclusive and representative democracy, where people from diverse backgrounds can participate in the political process and bring about meaningful change.

The fall of dynastic politics in Kashmir, Bangladesh and across India is a testament to the aspirations of the people to reject second and third generation scions of their beloved leaders. It is a call for progress, where leaders are chosen based on their merit, vision, and ability to serve the people, rather than their family lineage. Messy in the short term, this trends signals a shift towards a more equitable and just political system.

However, the transition from dynastic politics to a more inclusive system can be fraught with difficulties. There may be resistance from entrenched political interests, and the potential for instability and conflict cannot be ignored. It is essential that people remain engaged in the political process, than support autocratic rulers or alternative political ideologies like Communism. Further, once a new leader is chosen, people must continue to demand accountability, transparency, and responsive governance from their leaders. Civil society organizations, independent media, and international observers will need to play a crucial role in monitoring the transition and ensuring that it remains on track.

So while right now Bangladesh might be burning, democracy at the state level suspended in J&K; and local government in Maharashtra suspended (no elected municipal corporation exists in the entire state), it is crucial that we push through the momentum of rejecting dynasts and work towards creating a political system that is truly representative of the people. This will require sustained effort, commitment, and a willingness to embrace change. But if we stay the course, we can create a brighter future for all.