​Most thinking minds and compassionate hearts find it saddening to see a rift being created among the students. Many argue that if the initial protestations gave the movement momentum, it does not imply they should be the face of the movement everywhere, considering they possess limited resources at their disposal. Their presence is indeed felt by the students as many more faces join the movement in different parts of the country, including the initial protesters at Jantar Mantar. Their demands remain the same: accountability and basic transparency, underscored by a critical lack of jobs.

​Across homes, a large section of the courageous souls who are tied up in their day-to-day chores believe efforts to sow division must never split the youth, as every face is the same, talking about the same issue. Many believe that any dissent or protest should be heard on the first day itself, so that a feasible solution comes into existence.

​In other parts of the country, floods are wreaking havoc, while droughts are doing what they are best known to do. Torrential downpours have waterlogged the national capital and beyond, even as rural jobs fell by almost 50 percent in July.

​Meanwhile, a small percentage of rogue Kanwariyas seem hell-bent on giving a bad name to the Kanwar Yatra all over the country.

​Amidst these struggles, sports continues to offer a momentary distraction—India ranked fourth in the recent Commonwealth Games, and the Indian men's cricket team has landed in Sri Lanka to play a Test series.

​Similarly in culture, a lack of quality movies on the big screen, alongside strong performances, has helped Musafir Cafe on OTT garner positive reviews online.

​Through it all, many others simply continue observing and embracing life in different parts of the country and elsewhere.

​Yet, behind this shiny picture of modern movie-watching, a quieter problem has emerged: India has failed to produce a superstar among the younger lot of actors and actresses. A fixation with old-timers and their constant urge to improve and adapt as per changing demands could be one reason. Another prominent reason could be the disappearance of cinema talkies in the tier-2 cities of the country. Mofussil towns continue to host the odd cinema theatre or talkie even today, while rural India still does not have a cinema hall, or if it does, the number is negligible. Economics and marketing play a role in deciding whether to set up a movie theatre.

​It is worth noting that almost every superstar of the past has credited the talkies as a major factor behind their success. Yes, a good storyline, with soulful Bollywood numbers and a perfect masala entertainer, is an important ingredient as ever, but the disappearance of talkies seems to be the biggest contributor towards the non-appearance of a superstar in the Indian film industry.

​You see, talkies provided a connection with the masses that expensive multiplexes simply cannot replicate. Successful movies would run for an extended period of time in these talkies. The black marketing of tickets would further create that buzz. People dancing and throwing coins in the cinema halls have given way to a much more sophisticated and aesthetic style of movie-watching in today's time. A superstar is created when people watch more of her and him. With other entertainment options available to the masses, the charisma of superstardom seems to be finally diminishing from the Indian landscape.

​The southern side of India still offers the charm of the old, and perhaps that is the reason why we continue seeing the emergence of superstars down south. Their movies continue to engage with the electorate as well. The emergence of Vijay in the politics of Tamil Nadu stands as testament to this fact. In a political landscape dominated by the two Dravidian parties, the AIADMK and the DMK, even the national parties found it hard to make a breakthrough. But in less than a couple of years, a stylish and popular actor didn't just end up challenging them; he defeated their old style of politics.

​Perhaps Bollywood could learn a trick or two from the southern states and make sure they give us a superstar. Since 2010, quality Bollywood movies have been few and far between. Remakes have taken precedence. Propaganda films have been doing the rounds. Cheap VFX has also made the viewing experience below ordinary. Imitating top Hollywood directors has been detrimental to us. The emergence of OTT platforms has also cost Bollywood. Producers make pre-release deals with such platforms so that they can at least break even in case the movie flops.

​As a true lover of Bollywood, I hope and pray everybody—and India as a whole—gets its next superstar soon.

​It is no surprise that we are a team in transition in the red-ball setup as well. Led by the stylish Shubman Gill, who deservedly cemented his position in the famous number 4 slot and as captain after leading the young Indian side to a historic 2-2 drawn series in England last year, ushering in the beginning of a promising era under his regime. His prowess both as captain and as one of the best red-ball batters in recent times surfaced when, during his absence plagued by an injury, Indian red-ball cricket plummeted to a dismal performance in the subsequent home series against South Africa after the historic high in England at the peak of Bazball cricket, and against the West Indies at home.

​The team looked rudderless; the stand-in captain couldn't inspire the lads, and the coach seemed completely out of sync. Thank God for the World Cup victory a few months later and the much-hyped cricket carnival called the Indian Premier League—the tough questions were temporarily overshadowed.

​With less than a week to go before India plays on the dancing and turning tracks of Sri Lanka, here's hoping the leader of the pack stays fit and is able to motivate the team to reach greater heights.

​A chance at playing in the final of the ICC Test Championship for a record third time offers this young team a brilliant opportunity to showcase their mettle and strength, which they have earned from playing in front of huge crowds under heavy pressure, largely in the Indian Premier League.

​Experienced and seasoned players like KL, Pant, Jadeja, Bumrah, and Kuldeep, in the line-up led by the dynamic Gill, offer a great chance for the youngsters to shine and make the cricket-obsessed nation proud.

​We love our red-ball cricket. Watch out for Jaiswal. He has already proven his worth. Gill and Jaiswal should retire with 10,000 Test runs and over 36 Test centuries.

​Interesting times lie ahead.

PS: Writing this article took me down memory lane. I remembered my stints as an intern at top media houses across the country, covering local and national issues, as well as sports.

​The debate never truly existed in the first place. How and why did it even begin?

​Surely the ego, vanity, and suspicion residing deep within the human mind gave birth to the cynical accusation: "Your creation is not human; it is surely AI-generated."

​If we trace back history, this scepticism is not new. It has existed for eternity among critics who seek to diminish original work. The efforts of such minds should not be given weight.

​Sticking with your truth—then, now, and forever—is all that matters.

​Looking at the bigger picture, even if someone uses AI, whether to create content or to catch so-called discrepancies. It is worth noting that human intelligence has since its inception used inventions to improve our standard of life. Improving yourself will collectively improve humankind.

​But remember that AI lacks a moral compass.

​Any mask cloaking your pride or jealousy will, sooner or later, fall away.

​Hold on. You already know this.

​Have a good day and enjoy the view.

If the night is where the spirit unifies with the soul, the morning is where that union is brought to life. The unending energy and courage accomplished through the union of the spirited souls and the soulful spirits continue to rise above and beyond.

​A spiritually awakened piece of land, stirred by consciousness in bits and pieces in every rustling leaf, quietly opens to the day.

​The night fades, as the sun rises over the horizon forcing the stars to withdraw, which leads to clear blue air refreshing the vision.

​Winter fog fights the sun as it envelops earth-beaten tracks, clinging to the tall grass. Ultimately sunlight prevails, bright rays pierce the mist in golden yellowish beams. The morning air is crisp and clear, revealing the wild once more.

​Shadows dissolve. Now, giant, ancient trees with dense undergrowth vegetation reveal the morning in full detail.

​The eerie silence of the night seems like a distant memory. Birdsong amplifies, echoing across the hills. A tiger walks the earth-beaten tracks, his gait making human kings and monarchs envious. Birds flutter and soar, bees and butterflies float, insects return to life.

​Stillness gives way as motion ripples through the entire landscape.

​Sound fills the woods, growing into a vibrant, living cadence.

​This marks the true awakening of consciousness. A serendipitous encounter.

​If the night’s glow awakened inner wisdom, granting courage amid the still darkness, it is the morning’s light which brings clarity.

​This intersection of sunlight, birdsong, wild beasts, and ancient trees pierces the soul, leaving me utterly bewildered. Lips mumble an honest prayer: "Oh Lord! I love light. Bless me more."

​The prayer gets answered as bright sunlight takes the baton and guides this enchanting journey into the soulful land of the spirited soul.

​Rooted to the earth, bathed in sunlight, clear of mist, the soul walks forward into the day—fearless, fully awake, and complete.

For as long as I can remember, every monsoon season brings the same story across news channels. Generally, in April/May, the IMD declares the date when the southwest monsoon will hit Kerala, and by and large, India ends up receiving normal rainfall. The entire country prepares accordingly, yet every monsoon season a predictable script unfolds in front of our eyes. Metropolitan cities transform into clogged waterways, drains overflow, vehicles get stuck, and many posh areas welcome dirty water into their homes. Some film stars and the country’s elite leave their homes to stay in five-star hotels. The paparazzi endlessly follow them, while social media ends up discussing their umbrellas, raincoats, and monsoon fashion styling. This is what we are accustomed to seeing and reading. Apart from this, concerned experts and veteran journalists debate on prime time television and write editorial columns for top newspapers every season without fail. Solutions are provided and accountability is demanded, but somehow the picture never changes. A similar story unfolds in rural India: based on weather predictions, farmers prepare to till and sow their land. Year after year, unpredictable weather combined with rising input costs tends to break the backbone of Indian farmers. Many commit suicide, others fall deep into debt, and local and national crony capitalists take advantage of systemic, tragic economic hardships to make heavy profits.

Through information circulated over the years, we are all aware of the science behind climate disturbances: warm air acts like a bigger sponge—as temperatures rise, it holds more moisture and evaporates water rapidly from rivers and soil, causing severe droughts. The warm air then carries the trapped moisture away to other locations where it suddenly condenses and dumps massive amounts of heavy rain, causing devastating floods. In short, anthropogenic factors are responsible for this climate disturbance. In India, Assam and Kerala are primary examples where floods have caused massive destruction this year; drought-like situations in other parts of the country are no different from previous years. This seems like an endless loop: solutions exist on paper, only to never be implemented at the grass roots.

Despite assurances and uniform policy measures like the Minimum Support Price, the farmer rarely profits. Homes are left devastated, crops fail, and structural gaps in the system allow local players to prey upon the masses. Even in places where direct effects aren't experienced, the farmer ends up suffering indirectly. If in one season the price of pumpkin shoots up, the farmer decides to grow it the next season, only to realise that there is no demand for pumpkin in that particular season.

More often than not, all this economic stress invariably ripples into public infrastructure too, where Primary Health Centres continuously struggle through every season under severe shortages of medical staff, diagnostic tools, and essential medicines. Village schools face an identical fate, operating with understaffed classrooms and missing facilities. It is worth observing that, had it not been for the subsidies and other welfare schemes provided by state and central governments, the masses would find it difficult to survive this catastrophe. They barely survive.

Somehow, these seasonal occurrences and vulnerabilities remain timeless and become a routine calendar event, which makes me wonder: are we the most resilient people in the world? Stepping back to look at the broader global picture, a common observation comes to the surface. The struggles of everyday people are similar in Europe and other developed nations as well. Forest fires, illegal immigration, low per-acre yields, and rising temperatures—alongside soaring infrastructure investments, technological breakthroughs, and economic expansion—are what the Western world is also experiencing. Meanwhile, the plight of Third World nations paints a tragic picture. Overall, the majority of people end up suffering the world over, across different socio-economic backgrounds.

In spite of increased suffering, the world seems to move forward. If we look closely, we come to realise that perhaps every institution governing us has either collapsed or is fractured. Systems exist on paper, and despite honest intentions in some cases, they fail to make any change where it matters. People fend for themselves through every recurring crisis. When I talk to learned individuals, they make me understand that if anything could have been done, it would have been implemented a long time ago. The persistence of these broken systems is not a temporary setback. The failure is so deeply embedded that expecting any sort of fix is an illusion. Across the world, people need to feed their families, pay their bills, and make a life out of whatever resources they have at their disposal. People do not have the luxury to pause and wait for broken institutions to repair themselves. Neither does the common person have the resources, time, or energy to make structural changes. They end up adapting, enduring, and doing what is necessary to survive today and plan for tomorrow. Maybe the masses don't have the luxury to repair, but the elites do possess the ability. It is an open fact that almost all resources are at their disposal. A question pops up: what should they do?

Some individuals who possess revolutionary ideas might call for communism as the way forward, but I don't think it would be fair to advocate for it; it is a failed ideology. However, by the look of things, even capitalism may collapse in the coming times. This forces us to dig deep: could a compassionate order issued by the wealthy ruling elite alleviate the daily hardships of the common person? The answer lies in a simple premise: will their conscience allow them to make those changes? Benevolence and altruism can perhaps go a long way forward in improving the plight of the common person.

With no structural reforms in sight, this systemic inaction is further worsened by political polarisation. As we observe worldwide, governments change, political tides shift left and right, and new leaders make grand promises, yet the underlying reality remains identical. Political polarisation forces leaders into rigid camps where compromise or nuanced praise is off-limits for fear of alienating voter bases. When major developed nations operate this way, it sets a global precedent. For example, the state of the world is such that a left-leaning politician is unable to offer praise to a political opponent for fear that their vote bank might leave them. A conservative leader, on the other hand, will rarely call out human rights violations or foreign policy atrocities for fear of alienating their core supporters. When the most developed nations in the world act this way, it leaves others with no option but to follow suit.

Observing this global deadlock develop across all levels of authority takes me back to my childhood routine of watching the news. Over the years, I have come to ask: is any of this repetition really disheartening? Could it be that these are simply the ways of the Creator—that life moves on, even after calamities, and our role is merely to endure until our time comes? At most, can we do any more than pray for a role reversal, hoping to become the privileged few who enjoy their time on Earth? For the rest of us, does it make much difference, when impending bills, climate disasters, and constant needs will always keep us entangled in what we call life?

Going back in time, I remember a young kid accompanying his family on winter vacations to the Tiger reserves of Madhya Pradesh. Over the years, moments spent in the forest with near and dear ones have taught me more about right and wrong than any audio or text ever could. The Tiger has been a great teacher. Coincidentally, today marks Guru Purnima. Lord Shiva, the Adiyogi, is the first Guru, often depicted draped in Tiger skin. My relationship with the feline expands through this spiritual thread—reaching the photographer capturing the moment, or the dreamer lost in thought in an urban centre. Some dreams linger, untamed like the feline in an ever-changing landscape, leaving me to wonder: Has my soul found its home? Even after returning to reality, that presence remains.

In the jungles of India, Panthera tigris has captivated imaginations across generations. Through jungle lore, we have come to appreciate the Tiger and the ancient ecosystem it anchors—a living pyramid far older than the famous pyramids of Egypt. Where religious texts speak of balance, nature demonstrates it. For some, books convey this truth. For others like me, walking through the woods or listening to the sharp alarm calls of ungulates reveals the power of static dynamism. The Tiger is indeed the bridge of interconnectedness.

Like dreams within dreams, the Tiger pulls me into the depths. It is rightly called the Nomad King. Had indigenous knowledge not been sidelined by rapid urbanisation, we might have understood more about this ghost of the woods—an entity that moves silently over dry leaves, sprints at full throttle across open grasslands, and navigates hundreds of kilometers through human corridors in search of a mate. The Tiger is a phenomenon. It swims wide river channels with ease. Its paws appear soft and gentle, yet conceal lethal claws that deploy mid-air to bring down prey. Not everything needs to be revealed; even the Tiger's outer form hides the true extent of its power.

Tracing its history from ancient Asia to the present day leaves me in awe. Even in an era of climate disruption—where shifting weather patterns bring droughts to drylands and floods elsewhere—the Tiger’s spirit remains unbroken. Against the odds, its numbers in India have risen. Despite living in dense human landscapes where space and resources are fiercely contested, the species continues to adapt. Field observations have even recorded adult Tigers displaying unprecedented tolerance, sharing territory in ways rarely seen before.

Facing relentless human pressure, this humble denizen refuses to yield. History reminds us how elusive this cat has always been to foreign explorers and royal hunting parties, who often had to settle for lesser trophies. Yet, the wider shadow of extinction remains real—the loss of the Caspian and Javan Tigers, and the dwindling numbers of the Siberian Tiger, are stark warnings. In spite of this, the Royal Bengal Tiger continues its nomadic journey, marking territory and leaving tracks across the forest floor. These imprints carry such weight that they resonate globally on International Tiger Day.

A few years ago, a viewer commented "Tiger Bharat Express" on a photograph I captured of a tiger pacing along railway tracks. Today, our national animal stands as a global icon. In honour of Bharat’s gift to the world, perhaps we can call it TIE—the Tiger International Express: a unifying force that connects ecosystems, binds communities, and inspires us to protect a living planet.

Happy International Tiger Day.

Quite a lot of time has passed since his observation. As of today, we see the youth of the country asking similar questions. Some are on the streets of the country, while many others are quietly asking themselves and their elders the same question: Do we have an answer?

All of us have grown up hearing stories of Gandhian ideology, largely in our executive and judiciary. I am no different. We are all aware of Mr Satya Nadella, chairman and CEO of Microsoft. His father, the late B.N. Yugandhar, was another outstanding civil servant of the 1962 batch from the Andhra Pradesh cadre. He held many important positions, but during his stint as the secretary in the Ministry of Rural Development, Government of India, he had observed that people's participation and community development was the core essence to make any development activity succeed.

Back then it was observed that community-led development programmes had borne fruit in some parts of the country. Although a lot more was desired in the rain-fed and drought-prone zones of the country to maintain the ecological balance. Based on reports of various committees to specifically look into the programmes in these drought-prone areas through Mr Yugandhar's intervention, a major focus was upon increasing the livelihood of the stakeholders in these areas and protecting and conserving the environment. Mind you, a few years ago the 73rd and 74th amendments to the Constitution of India had come into force. Gandhi's vision of villages becoming a self-contained unit for development at least saw light on paper. Integrated Watershed Development Programmes pan-India brought dividends. So when Mr Yugandhar introduced a paradigm shift in managing the watersheds through a pan-India watershed development programme, his basic thrust was to provide employment to the communities who would manage their own affairs through watershed development programmes in their villages. Employment generation and restoration of a broken environment were the focused targets. In the guidelines for watershed development, he wrote—It is my earnest belief and desire that these guidelines be adopted and implemented as soon as possible, creating a people's movement for the creation of a splendidly bountiful motherland, specially in the dry areas. This was in the year 1995.

With the passage of time, more facts surfaced—sadly, we are able to tap only twenty per cent of rainwater; deforestation has uprooted trees leading to soil erosion and subsequent silting of small streams which feed the larger water body. The catchment area treatment through vested interests got confused with only serving non-human biotic forms, thereby enabling Panchayati Raj Institutes to prey upon the masses. It makes you question: was a divide created between the common man and the many artefacts created by the Lord for mankind by the men upon whom the committee bestowed a responsibility to make changes?

If you study, you would understand that grass-roots development projects were envisioned in a way so that the non-human biotic components could flourish, which were directly proportional to improved livelihood and sustenance of the peasantry and the partisans of India, largely the youth—the workforce of India.

What brilliant civil servants desired and worked towards in a system which has largely swayed in the opposite direction is perhaps a reason why the colourful youth of the country is on the streets today. A new form of protest is visible; the aspirations of both the rural and the urban youth are on display. Where on earth do we see kids doing ballroom dancing as a form of protest? When they are lathi-charged, instead of retaliating, they are asking the ones who are hurling lathis at them—What would you tell your kids? Would you like it if a cop thrashes your kid? For a moment, if we look beyond these images, we can easily fathom the curiosity, the aspiration of a youth which has realised its future is rudderless. They have forced us to sit back and appreciate the strength of the youth. In spite of being the majority in the country, they've had to rally support behind each other to ask the minority—What about us? As the protests grow, we are also witnessing opposition party elected representatives and activists who are torchbearers of Aya Ram and Gaya Ram trying desperately through their media support to hog the limelight. Is this a game of musical chairs?

Any movement which gets poisoned by political parties moves towards changing governments, with every government adopting the same policy. The voice that matters becomes voiceless, because cherry-picking doesn't help in these times. The dialogue should be left between the protesters, aka youth of India, and the incumbent. The opposition leaders have many issues worth sorting in their respective constituencies; wouldn't it be great if they spent more time with their electorate to improve their lives? As for intellectuals and activists, one out-of-context statement trapped in their hatred towards the government could ruin what the youth is aspiring to achieve. Do they really need a Marg Darshak? Or is the Marg Darshak joining in for their personal gains?

As I draw parallels between the sayings of two honest civil servants along with many other thinking minds across different fields, the only question that comes to my mind is—what is development? Is it a holistic development? Because from what is visible, the central and state exchequer indicates heavy costs amounting to trillions, but in effect, the ground looks and feels different. If it was any different, the youth wouldn't be doing the modern Gandhian protest demanding accountability and basic transparency so that fair exams could be conducted and merit could be appreciated, making every aspirational child fulfil his dream in their motherland.

If heed had been paid to what the late Mr Yugandhar had envisioned towards the closing of the last century and Mr Ranjan towards the beginning of the millennium, the story would have been different. But as they say, it is never too late for a good beginning. The need of the hour is to work collectively towards restoring the broken rain-fed zones and assuage the sentiments of the vibrant youth power on the streets. God forbid if the rains fail us, we might have catastrophic conditions all over the country, specially in the drought-prone and rain-fed areas. I pray to God to have mercy and send us the rain. Latent wisdom, technology, scientific interventions and community participation as a whole could address the impending issues. Until then, let peace, love, compassion and understanding each other gain prominence in all minds.

Last couple of days witnessed a new human formation which could aptly be called - a kaleidoscope of the vibrant youth of India.

The former tracked celestial bodies, the latter will perhaps set the political discourse in the coming times.

Accountability has taken centre stage and it will go a long way in strengthening the glorious traditions of Indian democracy.

Peace should be the mantra and violence the outcast.

The anger spilling onto the streets is saddening, and the visuals of students being lathi-charged are shameful. Reports surfacing of law enforcement agents bearing the brunt are equally painful—injured fellow human beings and citizens of the country merely carrying out their orders. Sometimes I wonder: isn't this the natural consequence of a basic law of human nature—that if you ignore people long enough, they will react? Or, as Newton's third law of motion puts it: every action has an equal and opposite reaction.

​When young applicants gather under the open sky asking for nothing more than honest exams, decent work, and transparent institutions, they aren't trying to tear down the state—they are waving a red flag. A month had already elapsed while the youth of the country were on the roads. Their voices could have been heard in the very first week. Before any of that could happen, data processing surged across homes and perhaps even inside parliament; opinions were converted into facts. This conversion is deadly. As the late US Senator Daniel Patrick Moynihan famously remarked during a heated debate: "You are entitled to your opinion, but you are not entitled to your facts."

​Reflecting on this, an observation comes to mind: aren't these occurrences becoming a regular phenomenon in recent times? Would it be fair to address this as a fundamental failure of governance seen across both rich and poor nations? When we delve deep, we see that on paper, we have laws and constitutional amendments promising power to grassroots communities. In reality, that power gets swallowed whole by bureaucratic indifference. We notice a stark disconnect: Grand plans to assist the vulnerable often remain on paper, beautifully presented but seldom implemented in real life. When institutions behave like emotionless robots, human frustration builds up until it has no choice but to take to the streets, as we are witnessing worldwide.

​Turning our attention to the other side, governments face real headaches here too. Leaders, especially in fast-moving developing nations, must balance huge population demands against constant security threats. Their hesitation to listen to peaceful crowds often stems from a very real fear: they have seen past movements hijacked by bad actors looking to cause trouble. But fear makes leaders defensive, causing them to shut out the very people they ought to be helping. Don't you think this is the real tragedy of modern times? In an era of heightened connectivity, where terabytes of data packets are transmitted from client to server every second, basic human communication ceases to exist.

​As illustrated above, perhaps the paranoia is understandable, but should it be an excuse to stop listening—especially when a country's intelligence networks are as vast and capable as ours? Ignoring the people comes with a terrifying price tag.

​If we look elsewhere, we see a disturbing pattern. In Syria, a catastrophic drought between 2006 and 2011 displaced roughly 1.5 million rural citizens, forcing desperate families into urban centres like Damascus in search of help. When state relief failed to materialise, these economic grievances exploded into widespread political protests, which the government met with brutal repression.

​As Syria dissolved into civil war, extremist networks like ISIS capitalised on the resulting chaos and power vacuum, weaponising religious ideology and preying on a desperate, displaced population. We often focus strictly on terrorism, but deep questions remain: What happened to those original environmental refugees? Who is advocating for their rights today? How many survived, and under what conditions are they living?

​We see a similar trajectory in Africa with Boko Haram. What began as a localised movement reacting to state corruption, poverty, and governance failures was violently suppressed by security forces—catalysing its transformation into a hyper-violent terrorist organisation that destroyed the very communities it claimed to represent.

​Enough about developing or third-world nations. Don't they always cry and complain? Oh yes, they do. But what are global superpowers actually doing? Aren't global systems broken? As is evident, they are adept at using military force and aggressive economic models to grab resources and stack the deck in their favour. Their mantra is simple: when a system puts short-term profit ahead of human lives, it inevitably breeds the poverty and desperation that light the spark of war, and then developed nations take advantage of it. We have seen it across centuries, and most recently in how the United States of America and China dictate the global order.

A telling fact: these are also the nations with the highest greenhouse gas and CO₂ emissions, habitually violating United Nations norms.

​When discussing the cycle of human-induced disasters, we witness an endless loop most clearly in the Middle East. Israel, founded by a persecuted people seeking a safe home, fought for its survival for decades. Today, while its operations in Gaza destroy innocent lives, the violence goes both ways—factions like Hamas and Hezbollah have caused immense devastation, including the loss of young students. It creates pure fauda—the Arabic word for complete chaos. But fauda isn't confined to the Middle East; it is the same story in Ukraine, Sudan, and every warzone where powerful players treat human beings as collateral damage.

​Russia's assault on Ukraine views countless lives as mere disposable pieces in a game of grand geopolitical strategy—wrecking lives, disrupting food supplies, and driving up living costs globally. Meanwhile, the US relies on heavy sanctions and military pressure on Iran to secure energy corridors,  and keeping the region on edge. In both cases, powerful states fight for control while ordinary people suffer through inflation, displacement, hardships and constant anxiety. It isn't that Iran was making great progress or that the Ayatollah's regime reflected what the Prophet Muhammad had preached. Was it truly an Islamic state? Almost all of us would beg to differ. But what gave the USA the right to attack? Nobody knows. Children, youth and women who protested against the Ayatollah, much like those in Afghanistan and Iraq, are nowhere in focus. A movement of the people, by the people, and for the people has, since time immemorial, always been trampled upon by a bigger bully who initially pledged support.

​Worldwide, whether the fight is over oil, trade routes, ideology, or the urge to suppress basic transparency, the modus operandi is always the same: an obsession with infinite growth on a planet that simply cannot support it. Rich nations burn through energy to fuel high-consuming lifestyles, dumping the environmental and human cost on poorer countries. Stock markets tick up while ordinary citizens pay the bill in blood. We cannot afford to ignore this reality: at what cost must a nation grow before it is declared "developed"?

​Driven by this unyielding greed, the exact same pattern plays out within developing nations too. Just as Western powers grew rich by polluting, wealthy urban elites in developing countries now consume the lion's share of water and power, leaving farmers with dry wells. Marginalised communities and indigenous groups living over mineral-rich land are displaced so others can profit. Politicians parade GDP numbers, but everyday people still struggle to eat because leaders care more about winning the next election than building a sustainable future. The gap between the haves and the have-nots widens further in the era of neoliberalism.

​Another fascinating aspect is how easily we conflate a rebellion with a revolution. A rebellion acts in the present, fuelled by immediate anger and often trapped in historical grievances. A revolution, by contrast, is the byproduct of a sustained movement—one that moves past historical trauma to systematically build a completely new future.

​Tagore was right: fixing this doesn't require a stack of new laws. It requires leaders who actually care. Powerful officials need to drop their egos and stop treating government like an emotionless robot. Even the protesters shouldn't be guided by selfish interests; under the guise of a cause, the original mission shouldn't fizzle out. History has, time and time again, shown us this bitter truth.

​Don't you think true leadership starts with humility, morality, and respect for human life—or the pure consciousness of the awakened self?

​The people protesting on the roads aren't threats to order; they are its conscience. Until leaders everywhere realise that real strength comes from listening rather than suppressing, the world will keep spinning out of control. Only when thinking minds and courageous souls force institutions to serve real human needs can we begin to quiet the hatred around us and rebuild a world worth living in. Global problems, in the end, demand local answers.

In this era of technological advancements and high-tech data all around us, I have observed non-human entities deciding the course of human lives. During World War II, we saw what technology could do. One attack on Japan was enough to end the world war. The might of technology convinced global leaders all around to focus on using it for constructive purposes. Many diseases are a thing of the past, child mortality has significantly decreased, average life expectancy has increased and today more people die from obesity than starvation.

While the positive impacts are good, there has also been a structural collapse. As we stand at this crossroads, a deeper understanding tells us that our environmental and social crises are not merely external problems to be managed; they are symptoms of a profound disconnection—a belief that we are separate from the world, and from each other. How do we address this crisis of the Anthropocene? Should we bridge our scientific understanding of the world with the long-forgotten truth of oneness?

Based on information generated by AI and reality, scientific reports warn that we have entered a new phase of life: "a new climate normal," where rising temperatures, melting polar ice caps, exposure to ultraviolet radiation caused by the depletion of the ozone layer, the presence of greenhouse gases in the upper layers of the atmosphere, and changes in weather events have disrupted global stability, food security, and human life. Forest fires and severe air quality indexes are now an everyday occurrence. Not to forget the many wars world over. 

Catastrophe is unfolding right in front of our eyes, such as the release of methane from thawing permafrost—an event that geophysicists warn could be as destructive as a major asteroid impact. It's important to remember that water comprises 70 percent of our planet. We are witnessing the acidification of oceans, the bleaching of coral reefs, and the consequences of an albedo of just 0.07 across the ocean surface, alongside the volatile cycles of El Niño and La Niña. The headlines are there, and the intention behind resolving these crises is also seen, at least on paper, yet these talks are often missed in our day-to-day lives.

We cannot deny that money makes the mare go, and as we adopt horses for courses in the ever-changing landscape, I feel we(common beings) bank heavily on the horse that wins the derby. Our lives are entangled in the struggles of our day-to-day existence, where earning money and fulfilling our basic needs somehow take centre stage. We do have a will to address the issues mentioned, but we are so caught up in our day-to-day lives that these issues never take centre stage.

Our struggles are further compounded by information systems. We cannot deny, as it is evident, that today’s technology is not neutral; it is created to capture our attention by focusing largely on divisive, high-energy vibrations—outrage, envy, fear, and hatred. It is so addictive that it compels us to engage with it largely through social media posts, retweets, and our own ideologies. In fact, we become "stronger resonators" of these divisive forces and "less effective thinkers". Logical reasoning and critical thought vanish, along with our once-upon-a-time ability to connect with the deeper, quieter truths that govern both human nature and the natural world. I often wonder: do we get trapped in a loop of reaction? Subconsciously, somewhere, we wish to translate our concerns into something meaningful, but we cannot. The presence is there; yet, there is a different way to view our existence.

It is now that my mind dates back to an Indian philosophy called the Vaisheshika system, which speaks of the atomic structure of matter and the idea that all of creation is governed by energy and vibration. A similar thought is echoed in modern science, which reveals that even the physical world—what we call maya, or illusion—is not a static, mechanical machine but a dynamic, interconnected field of energy.

In nature, we see this unity in action. The "wood-wide web," a discovery that transformed our understanding of forests, reveals that trees are not competing individuals; they are a cooperative community that shares nutrients and carbon, functioning as a single, living entity. 

Understanding that this oneness, as seen in the most ancient biotic component of Planet Earth, allows us to shift our focus in how we perceive the world. Just as we use geometric postulates to understand complex truths, spiritual paths like Bhakti (devotion), Karma (duty), and Raja (mind control) provide the necessary tools to navigate the duality of life and perceive the divine essence that underlies all things. Mind you, I am not talking about superimposing these ideas, nor am I saying that this is a call to escape the world. I am simply saying we need to engage with it more deeply. 

Why I say so? it is because in today's time, instead of forging our duality into oneness and create a forest, the world wide web has created computer to computer chains that don't pass through any human. Computer themselves have become members. 

From whatever little I know, I feel environmentalism begins when we stop identifying with the "body" and start identifying with the universal structure. It is the practice of becoming "pure enough" that we no longer fear the environment, but rather work in harmony with it. How do we achieve that? For starters, we need the pure consciousness of our awakened self, which can allow love and compassion to flow freely within and outside of us.

Along with this is the fact that, worldwide, community-led initiatives have shown us exactly what this harmony looks like in practice. When local communities, supported by honest and committed leadership, are given the agency to manage their own land and water resources, the results are transformative. Success stories globally have proven that when people participate in the regeneration of their own ecosystems, they do not just conserve nature—they eliminate poverty and improve their own lives. These projects succeed because they replace top-down dictats with bottom-up participation, recognising that the real enemy is not outside us, but rather the collective habits we must outgrow.

The way ahead shows us that we cannot rely solely on technological promises. While the creators of AI might promise to "save" us, others warn that an unregulated AI arms race could further enhance our existing conflicts, creating a world that divides humanity just as the Cold War once did. We cannot delegate our responsibility to a machine. Also we can't become a machine ourselves.

The challenge of our time is to bring about sustainable development. There are many definitions of sustainable development. The simplest is: to use natural resources in a way that does not compromise the needs of future generations. With eight billion different DNAs worldwide—and mind you, we are all different—where is the one place where we meet? I think we meet at the bridge. For example, the latent wisdom and technical knowledge of today possess the ability to narrow the gap.

I mentioned earlier about certain spiritual practices present in India. I am not saying that becomes the norm, that is a form of latent wisdom much like the indigenous communities worldwide. Modern systems view the earth as a resource to be managed efficiently. In contrast, the "Letter from the India Chief of Seattle"(do read my last article) teaches that the earth is a sacred, living relative. Because all things are connected like a family, whatever harms nature ultimately harms humanity.

If you have studied engineering, driven an automobile, or used an electronic appliance, you would know that mechanical efficiency is always less than one. What is it that engineers do? They try to make the efficiency as close to one as possible. Our endeavour, as we are the creators of Artificial Intelligence, should be to use it for constructive purposes. Solely blaming governments because they are the policymakers would be wrong. This article is written on a platform that is a product of technology. AI is a byproduct of technology too. So, aren't we equally to be blamed? Instead of passing the buck, the realisation should be: the buck stops here.

Even today, the ball lies in our court. Ultimately, modern environmentalism is a living faith. It calls us to live in the present, treating daily duties as spiritual work. By substituting consumerism and inflated self-importance(ego) with altruistic care, we can listen to nature, our neighbours, and our own wisdom. Aligning our society and technology with the natural laws of unity is our only path away from self-destruction and toward a beautiful, bountiful future. Lastly, you do not want an Internet of Things to make babies, do you? That would be the greatest insult to woman and mankind.

I would end with a few lines from the Autobiography of a Yogi by Paramahansa Yogananda, where he writes: "Through inner realisation one can accomplish their materialisations. The different stimuli to which a man reacts – tactual, visual, gustatory, auditory and olfactory – are produced by vibratory variations in electrons and protons. The vibrations in turn are regulated by prana, 'lifetrons,' subtle life forces more finer than atomic energies intelligently charged with the five distinctive sensory idea-substances."

Eight billion people(lifetrons) are hurting the earth that feeds us. When she pushed back in 2020, the world locked down and we suffered.

If she decides we have taken her grace for granted and truly retaliates, nothing will save us. No matter how we live, what we believe, or where we stand, we cannot survive her wrath.

Now, I would like to shift your attention to a phenomenon that is a part of our lives. Since the beginning of the Industrial Revolution, carbon parts per million has not just shot up to an alarming level; the alarm bells rang long before, and the United Nations made everyone aware. Multiple protocols and conventions highlighted the ill effects and promised vows to take it under control. Even if one overlooks the data, that is acceptable. The truth is clearly visible to us.

Today is the 16th of July, and as I am writing this, Uttarakhand in India, my home state, is celebrating Harela. Let us explore the festival briefly for those who may not be familiar with it, as it is important for understanding the context of what this article aims to communicate. Since time immemorial, it has been an agricultural and environmental festival celebrated to mark the onset of the monsoon season, much like every festival celebrated in an ancient civilisation. Long before deities took form or were recorded in texts, the connection with the divine was simply referred to as Nature. In our present day, however, Nature has come to embody a multitude of interpretations.

In simple English, it marks the Day of Green. As many are moved by the religious and spiritual aspects of life, here is a short takeaway: the festival is tied to the mythological wedding of Lord Shiva and Goddess Parvati during the month of Shravan, a symbol of fertility, prosperity, and a harmonious union of nature and the divine. This ends the introduction of the article, which is akin to the rudder of a boat that steers the path, or the balance that a Tiger uses when in pursuit of its quarry.

If the introduction has resonated with you, it is no surprise that you can anticipate the journey or adventure we are about to embark on together.

Through my countless encounters with forest dwellers and rural folks, spanning over a decade physically, and through stories by learned elders alongside data and books, I developed an understanding of "Be thou an instrument. O Arjuna," long before I came across these verses in the holy Bhagavad Gita. In modern times, instruments known as barometers are used to measure variations in air pressure. Indigenous communities globally, through their sensory organs, became instruments themselves. It is worth mentioning that all natives outside of India, and even many natives within India, had not read the Gita, yet they understood this communication better than most of us today, thanks largely to an early exposure which visualised the dependency of sustainability on natural resources. I would like to term them spiritual scientists (a term I came across online).

It seemed they had a unique talent for interpreting science as if it were a prophetic vision. A communication between sky and earth enabled a holistic interaction, akin to an instrument to predict weather patterns. Every movement of the water and the air carried signals that instinct decoded. What modern scienctists calls science, these denizens classify as stories or blueprints of cause and effect. Siddhartha Gautama was proficient in cause and effect. History says he lived 2,500 years ago. What insights can we glean from history about the children who viewed these tales as artistic expressions and matured with a belief that they embodied scientific truths or a deep connection to the natural world?

What a communion, as they could breathe it, adapted to it, and adopted ways to alter their lifestyle to truly stay alive. What is worth noting is that they never caused harm to the mother and to the motherland, which they felt to be superior to heaven.

Were they able to bridge heaven and earth? This question brings me back to the introduction of the article, and thank you for staying with me. Back then, carbon parts per million was way under control. Why was it? Today, with so much awareness and information, both scientific and spiritual, why are we still lacking? The spiritual scientists of the past could decipher the unseen and the unheard.

Is Sat Chit Ananda, along with contemporary science, unable to see beyond its observations? What blinds it? Maybe that is a discussion for another time. Maybe native forecasting, back then and even today as India celebrates Harela and different environmental and agricultural festivals, began with awareness and not control, and most importantly, not a superimposition of their awareness. Yes, the world over there were different tribes, and even neighbouring tribes differed. What sustained life was not the imposition of one's idea; perhaps it was a mutual exchange of respect. For example, the Gavils and the Kunbis of Aamby Valley in Maharashtra shared a symbiotic co-existence. One provided meat, the other provided dairy. Similar instances of a barter system were prevalent worldwide. What sustained life was perhaps an element of gratitude; who knows.

Coming back to indigenous lifestyles, it is astounding to note how human behaviour aligned with the natural flow of life. The flow of rivers shaped ways of living, and a heaviness in the air predicted rain. Long before ink was put to paper, they saw clouds as a study of mind and body. They saw holistic growth through visual, and later, verbal science. Birds are the ancient storytellers. Altering climate patterns altered the flight of the birds, and songs changed notes; not to forget, minuscule insects also played their part. Plants communicated through a unique language, where their curling leaves, twisting either inward or outward, signaled shifts and transformations in their lives.

Even the abiotic components, the rocks, the land, carried a message. Air had a spirit, and the wandering soul unified with it to produce unbounded energy long before E=mc^2 came into existence. The enigma of the night, coupled with the brilliance of sunlight, held a tranquil embrace as the heart would always chart its own course, thereby enabling the journey to become blissful.

As much as I romanticise rural India and native lifestyles across the globe, I am a proud engineer who values science over spiritualism in today's times. I am also a spiritual being. However, I rate the indigenous lifestyle over and above, and thanks to expansive consciousness imparted through books, I learned that consciousness has sadly become the creator of the instrument. How a verse or a book is interpreted lies in a person's cognitive ability. Living the essence of life without reading a scripture or a line convinces me that these "instruments" (indigenous communities) are a rare breed. If you read what the wise Indian Chief of Seattle wrote in the 19th century, you will understand that the instrument was indeed a soothsayer. What exists today is what I leave for your learned understanding. I end with these wise lines of the Indian Chief of Seattle, and wish everyone a Happy Harela. (Please take the time to learn about the festival online, as well as the words of the wise Indian Chief of Seattle.)

"We may be brothers after all. We shall see. One thing we know, which is the white man may one day discover -- our God is the same God."

​I often wonder: do those who truly listen to light not hear a voice at all, but rather a communication? As I rattle my mind, I understand that the history of human connection is long tied to the use of light. Long before the invention of modern technology, humanity discovered that light could travel much further than the human voice, becoming our most ancient method for bridging distance.

​I've sat by the fire in humble tribal dwellings, where tales of their ancestors using reflecting surfaces to communicate messages have enthralled my mind. As I dig deep, I encounter cases such as the Persian Fire Post Network under King Cyrus the Great, where smoke and fire signals allowed messages to traverse an entire empire in a single day. Similarly, the Great Wall of China utilised a beacon network of smoke by day and fire by night to pass military alerts across thousands of miles, while Roman emperors like Tiberius managed their rule from afar by using mirror networks to relay daily instructions to the mainland.

​It is a fact that light permeates inwards and reflects outwards too, speaking in a language without a voice, not heard, certainly experienced. This practice of using light to communicate messages in codes across long distances is known as heliography. While the modern coded systems we recognize today were formalized in the 19th century, the technique itself began in the ancient period.

​This method was built on a simple yet profound understanding: Even today, in many tribal lands where modern digital communication has not yet reached, even till recent times, many forest dwellers have used the technique to communicate these messages to reach a greater distance.

​For example, Daciots and bandits, along with their network of spies, would fool the cops and the agencies by creating signals like two flashes for one message or three for another people could transmit complex information across the void. As observed historically, people continue to communicate using these time tested methods, proving that the human need to reach out through light is both ancient and enduring.

​The shrinking of forest cover enabled the agencies to nab them. I often wonder how intelligent these so called illiterates were; they knew modern forms of communication could be tapped. They relied on the latent wisdom passed onto generations to avoid being caught. The loss of natural resources led to the decline of those beings, which is rather ironic.

​In this context, the role of enlightened beings takes on a deeper, spiritual meaning. Just as early humans, kings, and tribal communities used physical mirrors or fires to catch and direct light to overcome distance, these enlightened beings acted as conduits for a "divine light." They received this light—a source of profound wisdom and clarity—and radiated it outward to remove the darkness of ignorance and confusion, making me believe that light speaks the language of love and compassion.

​Whether it is a physical signal sent across a mountain range or the transmission of wisdom from an enlightened being to those in darkness, both share the same fundamental purpose: to use light to bridge a gap, to guide others, and to ensure that we are never truly alone in the dark.

​Darkness engulfs, but light surely clears.

Animals are wary of the light; they prefer darkness. Light is scary for them. On many occasions while shooting animals in the wild with my camera, I have used powerful spotlights. Most of them, except the wild boar, are transfixed as the light falls on their eyes. They appear as yellowish-green luminescent balls if they are herbivores and pinkish-red if the animal is a carnivore. The deer, antelope, and the like survive on greens; hence the colour in light. The tiger, leopard, hyena, and the killers have a bloody tint as they spill blood to survive.

The eyes reflect your true colours when light falls on them. Humans avoid the strong gaze of light piercing their eyes. They blink, avoid, or shut the eyelids; yet, they are always in quest of light. Light has entered a chosen few who attained enlightenment. When the light entered them and removed all darkness that was ever there. Light transcends the inner self and floats with the soul, removing ignorance. Light is all-pervasive. Some are drawn to it; some get scared, and the rest are in quest.

Does light speak?

Sure it does; otherwise, how would it have conveyed to the minds of the enlightened? There must be a language of light too!

I can see the blame shifting to the forest department in which it is being said that if one has to prune a tree in front of one's house, the permission from the forest department has to be obtained. True. Because it is the duty of the forest department to enhance the green cover and protect the biodiversity.  

The forest department is responsible for conducting a survey and deciding the level of pruning that has to be done. Fair enough. Not once during the entire show did I hear the word 'lopping', whereas in my state(Uttarakhand) even the common villager who doesn't know English knows the word 'lopping' and they do it. Here lies the catch. Pruning and lopping for the urbanite might mean the same but in reality, they are different phenomenons. Pruning is reducing the canopy of the tree, reducing the size and in the process, if it is not done correctly, it may cause damage to the green branches which would affect the growth and life of the tree in the long run. Lopping, which is done very well by the forest dwellers, is a simple act which benefits the tree, biodiversity, the soil, and the needs of the rural people.  

For ages, they have been doing it. They dismember the dead branches from the trees, making way for new branches to come out. Thus reducing the weight of the tree and the dead branches thus collected act as the firewood. There are Van Panchayats in the villages in and around the forest which look after their neighbourhood forests and get grass, fodder for their cattle, and firewood by lopping the trees. I have mentioned quite a few times that forests teach us a lot and the latent wisdom of the dwellers teaches us the best.

My humble suggestion is, let the celebrities in urban India take a leaf from the latent wisdom and amalgamate it with their scientific and environmentalist temper towards finding solutions, applying a little bit of common sense and relying less on rocket science. No offence meant, just a thought. Collectively we succeed, unilaterally we are alone.

Time for dinner and some fresh mangoes.

​An empire that once sought a path of totality drifted toward a new, dark course, where atrocities and cruelty became the norm under a mad king. This ruler proved his madness when he crucified a "Sarmad" - a member of his own clan, merely for seeking truth. What crime had the Sarmad committed when he peacefully uttered, "La Ilaha"?

Under the tyrant’s regime, the followers of Guru Nanak, most notably the tenth Guru of the Sikhs, suffered greatly. The tenth Guru experienced the loss of his father, the ninth Guru, who was beheaded in an effort to protect the lives of the people of Kashmir. It is notable that wherever Guru Nanak sat, his feet naturally faced towards Mecca (Kaaba).

Years later, the tenth Guru established the Khalsa Panth, which stood firm against tyranny and oppression. It brought forth a new individual: both a monk and a warrior. Simultaneously, in the central, western, eastern and southern regions, clans took up arms to resist the cruel regime.

​What transpired over those centuries was a sustained mutiny. Much has been written about India’s fight against oppression, but I would like to redirect your attention to the Five Ks of Sikhism. While these interpretations may not be found in conventional books, life is best understood through the lens of symbolism. Here, I present my own symbolic perspective:

​Kara (Righteousness): Worn on the wrist, the Kara serves as a constant reminder to respect our environment. It acts as a moral compass; whenever your hand moves toward harming the world around you, the Kara serves as a reminder to pause and desist.

​Kanga (Cleanliness): The comb symbolizes the duty to purge and cleanse the environment of which we are a part. Cleanliness is, indeed, next to godliness. Clean air and clear rivers are the absolute basics of this commitment.

​Kesh (Natural Order): This represents the natural regeneration of nature, standing as a testament to the necessity of reforestation and afforestation.

​Kachera (Temperance): This represents the discipline to restrain one's inner impulses, even those that wish to cause harm. It is a reminder to maintain composure and moral resolution. When we are determined, our destructive urges weaken and become less influential.

​Kirpan (Sword): This symbolizes the duty to protect the grandeur and munificence of our natural resources, which are nothing less than legendary.

​We often view Dharma strictly through the lens of religion, which is entirely valid. Viewing it through the environmental perspective taught in Sikhism, a modern religion, reveals the awe-inspiring yet fragile nature of the ecosystem.

​Previous extinctions on Earth were natural phenomena that culminated over millions of years. Sadly, the sixth extinction now beckons us within an alarmingly short span of time, all driven by the Anthropocene. If the actions of humanity can tilt the scales toward destruction, surely the same humanity has the power to tilt them back toward an equitable and just environment.

​As Guru Nanak once said:

​"Air is our guru, water is our father, and the great earth is our mother. Day and night are the male and female nurses in whose lap we all play."

​Our future generations deserve the right to play in that same lap.

"Do you see those three denuded hills behind my back?" the Baiga man asks, and continues, "I gave one as dowry to my daughter. I don't graze my cattle or collect Non Timber Forest Products here anymore. I want my daughter to live a comfortable life and this is the least that I can do. "

I am fascinated by what I am hearing from his lips. The poor tribal doesn't know these mounds or hills are forest or state property, but I allow him to continue, completely enamored by this story of a living dowry of earth and life.

"We were three brothers; two died before reaching adolescence," he continues. "My father owned these hills, and his father before him. My grandfather was a great man; The Thakurs(landlords) held him in high affection and esteem, and he also earned the respect of other tribes, particularly the Kols and the Gonds. He frequently joined the Rajput landlords on hunting trips," he adds.

Right at this moment, my attention shifts to the rhythmic laughter of children nearby. They have tied old rubber tyres to a sturdy branch of a mango tree, pushing and swinging themselves toward the sky. The sight makes me forget the sultry air; it feels as if the atmosphere is filled with a cadence of taps rising higher with every push, their bare feet kicking the air.

Bringing me back, the Baiga man says, "Now I have two mounds and two sons. After I die, I shall give one to each of my sons."

I ask him, "How will they sustain themselves with just a meager hill at their disposal? Haven't the Kols and the Gonds(other scheduled tribes, who are more in number) benefited from government-run schemes to some extent, at least? How will the Baigas survive extinction?"

He simply looks at me and says, "That's none of my concern. I die. I die."

I am amused and also stunned by his logic. At this very moment, a bunch of Baiga women approach, balancing ghadas filled with water on their heads and around their waists. Their walk is an effortless act of grace, their spine as straight as an arrow, hips swaying in ways that fashion models in Milan or Paris could never compete with. This is the natural gait of women who walk over parched lands and difficult jungle terrains without slippers. Even the thorns and pebbles on the ground seem to pay respect to them, or perhaps the DNA of these tribals is so clever that it mimics a monk who sits on a bed of thorns after years of penance and meditation. I suppose this is how Mother Earth pays homage to those who have carried the weight of the forest on their shoulders for centuries. These women are wonderful; their heads are covered by the sari pallu, yet their eyes see right through the purdah of the cloth, observing life unfold before them.

Bidding adieu to the Baiga, I decide to move on to the Uttar Pradesh side of Bundelkhand to spend a few nights with the Kols: who aren't recognized as a Scheduled Tribe in Uttar Pradesh, but are classified as a Scheduled Caste: a long-standing point of contention and social struggle for the community. As I walk towards my jeep. I realize the forest is more than what meets the eye; it is home not just to flora and fauna, but to the most marginalised and landless communities on earth.

Driving into the night, the yellow headlights guide me through lands where dacoits inhabit. My mind keeps looping back to that conversation with the Baiga, a gentle reminder that true richness or wealth is less about taking and more about giving. It is about the inheritance of respect that we pass onto future generations, whether it's a hill, a tradition, or just walking with your head held high in a place few call home. The Baigas, or the Bhumia (aka lords of the soil), don't till the earth; they have survived by observing and being one with the world they see.

As I cross into Bundelkhand, I realize that I have genuinely come to appreciate the Baiga lifestyle, but this is suddenly disrupted by the night time game activities. Fortunately, I have a flashlight with me; I stop the jeep, focus my gaze, and adjust the beam of the flashlight with one hand, while using my right hand to handle my reliable entry level, Nikon D5600 equipped with a 70-300 mm lens to capture images of a Nilgai, a civet, and a hare in motion. What do you think of the photographs? Personally, I have a greater fondness for the Baiga. I wish, I was one.

PS: The Forest Rights Act of 2006, along with earlier legislation and its subsequent implementations, can be discussed at another time.

Thanks for reading.

The monument is the body, avenues the path of truth, cavernous pathways the journey of the soul, tumultuous passages are the walks to awakening. The sun reflects universal consciousness, which finds it difficult to penetrate the present state of the human mind and body lost in its own trap of ego, vanity, validation, and falsehoods.

Hey mate, would you let it sink or will you put it ashore?

​The woman opened her laptop and started typing. Rajesh felt uneasy; him being a mediocre employee in the National Rural Livelihood Mission, he was not used to being close to a powerful and confident corporate lady. He would often watch her in awe and drop his eyes the moment they made contact. This continued for a while, only to be broken by the voice of the Ticket Collector. The charming lady noticed Rajesh's uneasiness, and she broke the ice after the TC left.

​"Would you be staying in Delhi for long?" Rajesh looked stunned, though he garnered strength and said, "I am attending a wedding; I will return home in two days."

​"Oh! How lovely. Even I came to attend a colleague's wedding," replied the corporate lady.

​The train was running at full pace, and within minutes, Rajesh's fear subsided, largely thanks to the graciousness of the lady. As the train moved past the barren fields, she said, "I wonder why these fields seem brown. Isn't a lack of vegetative cover surprising, Rajesh?"

​Sensing the lady seemed interested in rural India, Rajesh burst out sharing whatever little he knew about life in the countryside. He continued, "Yes Ma'am, the countryside unfortunately stays dry for more than half a year. Multiple factors contribute to this. Monocropping is sadly the norm, owing to a lack of water and other resources."

​The lady seemed fascinated. "How do they survive?"

​Rajesh replied, "Direct bank transfers, subsidies, and work in big cities contribute to life for the youth." Sensing the woman's interest, he further mentioned how schools in rural parts have altered the farming culture too.

​"Schools? How?"

​Rajesh said, "I come from a humble background. We don't have access to quality schools; I wonder how I cleared the government exams. Most of my friends who went to school did graduate in hopes of securing a job like me. When the job didn't come, many had already abandoned farming. Farms are largely handled by the previous generations. The youth of today is more aspirational, so when disappointed by a lack of opportunities back home, they move to bigger cities, largely working as migrant laborers, which also affects productivity in these parts. Farm hands are difficult to find; coupled with rising farm input prices, the future seems rather bleak."

​The corporate woman now seemed more interested in listening to Rajesh. She said, "Wow, this train journey might be the eye-opener for me. We do hear stories in Gurgaon where I live, but none talk about what you're describing. I'm all ears, kindly proceed. How can things get better?"

​Rajesh was now all confident; the voice of India was speaking through him, or so he felt at that moment. "You see, Madam, we need to arrest soil and water in our villages. We have a saying, “apna gaon, apni mitti, apna paani'“(our village, our soil, our water) is sufficient to sustain life on earth. There are brilliant schemes run by the government for rural employment, yet the price varies. If the government pays 250 per day for a day's work, a daily wage laborer demands 800 per day and finds work on the odd days being employed somewhere private for at least 500. The gap needs to be addressed."

​He continued, "We have areas where water holds, so a farmer grows paddy. We have areas where water doesn't hold, so via borewell drillings, a farmer grows wheat. Sadly, we lack the resources where paddy and wheat could go alternatively."

​The lady asked, "What do you propose?"

​"You see, Madam, every village has a 'nullah' running where water drains at a common point. The nullahs are in a bad shape, check dams are broken, and there is a lot of silt accompanied by 'besharam' grass, as planted decades ago."

​"'Besharam?"

​"Yes, Ma'am. Much like lantana in the forest, it offers aesthetics but is harmful to the natives. Clearing the nullah of silt, leveling the contours or the farm bunds and embankments through gully plugs, and careful plantation might help in reducing the flow of water and arresting the silt from depositing in the streams which connect to bigger streams and finally to the rivers."

​The lady heard him patiently. "And what would you do with the 'nullah'?"

​Rajesh said, "I have read about doha structures, which are dug along the course of a nullah. Dohas help store water, and through that, they not only recharge the aquifer but store water for farming along the nullah—majorly for landless farmers—and provide adequate water for roaming livestock. In a nullah stretching 2km, 50 dohas measuring the length, breadth, and depth of the nullah could be dug. While manual digging may help locals find employment, a great model of community-led development may be incorporated, showcasing a holistic approach. Perhaps solar borewells could be provided which would effectively be managed by the local communities, and womenfolk could participate through the formation of self-help groups... A lot could be done, Madam."

​This is when the train stopped at Delhi. The corporate woman smiled, shared her card, and asked Rajesh to stay in touch.

Since that time, Rajesh has posted numerous photographs supporting his arguments, and the woman is also making significant efforts to secure a 'Corporate Social Responsibility' grant for a project in Rajesh's village.

The interaction between the two is a very profound phenomenon. When the spirit finds the soul, it gives birth to spirited souls, meaning unending energy and courage.

Coming back to the forest at night, when the spirit enters the soul, which was felt during the day, fear runs away.

The spirited soul manifests itself in the form of a courageous entity who starts dwelling in the night and transcending onto a state of reaching above the stars.The fear is lost as the soul soars higher.

I have felt this in my early times of living alone in the forests. You are then the spirited soul with the soulful spirit.

At times a mystical feeling engulfs my senses as I am drawn more to the forests. Has my soulful journey to the spirited lands begun?