​The human brain, which has led scientific breakthroughs and achievements, is also a hyperactive courtroom where the bench of "my lords" is passing guilty judgments and sentences every now and then.

​On the surface, many pretend to be deep, soulful beings, but in reality, they are the complete opposite.

​A funny real-life incident which was narrated to me by my elders comes to mind.

​Mahadevi Verma from Allahabad was one of the greatest Hindi poetesses and writers of all time. She was invited to a social gathering by a group of learned intellectuals to hear her speak.

​Mahadevi Verma got late, and the hall gradually started murmuring. Half an hour passed, and the murmurs grew in strength. When she finally arrived after an hour or more, the entire hall was vibrating with murmurs.

​You see, people form judgments super fast. The more "serious" ones wait no further and form their final judgments.

​Because Mahadevi Verma was not merely an intellectual, but an intelligent being who was addressing intellectuals, she sensed the mood of the hall and proceeded to speak.

​Her first line was:

Main late aai, main leti thi...

​After hearing the second line, quite a few in the hall formed their opinion and classified her: "Oh, she was lying down with someone? that's why she got late. Isn't this gathering important to her?"

​Mahadevi proceeded with the next line:

Aur woh bhi mere saath leta tha...

​Hearing this, a greater number of people joined the chorus and perhaps started casting aspersions on her character. Mind you, this event took place in the 20th century, so you can understand how the intellectuals would have reacted to her lying in bed with someone. More judgments and opinions were formed.

​Some waited to form "better judgments" in their own sense, but by the time she spoke the third line, the sentence was already framed in the minds of the self-appointed jury:

Main keh na saki, "Chal hat pare"...

“I couldnt bring myself to say, get out of my way.”

​But Mahadevi, being Mahadevi, didn't just stop here:

​Main keh na saki, "Chal hat pare", kyunki woh mera beta tha.

“I couldnt bring myself to say, get out of my way, because he was my son.”

​And finally, when the actual verdict is delivered by the subject herself, these great souls have nothing left to do except stare at each other with their heads down.

​After those final lines, all those who love to judge others without waiting for entirety had nowhere to look except at each other.

Best to judge yourself before passing verdicts on others.

Almost everywhere in those belts, presence of stones in the ground, lack of water, denuded hills and climatic factors and many others have contributed in making land unfit for farming. It is widely known that the tree cover is scant, which has stripped the soil of its vital organic energy. Search online and you would discover Bundelkhand is famous for its dry wells and surrounding dry-decidous forests too.

The presence of the Panna Tiger Reserve, which later became a UNESCO Biosphere Reserve, has failed to uplift the socio-economic conditions of the people of Bundelkhand.

As a matter of fact, out of a total of 6.5 lakh villages in India, about 1.5 lakh exist around forest fringes and the condition of almost all the villages are the same.

On one hand our national parks, sanctuaries, tiger reserves, core and buffer areas have increased in numbers, but they haven't had a direct positive bearing on the lives of the so many people living around these forests.

On a personal level, I have always been fascinated by such developments. Travelling to these parts has widened my horizon. While travelling many observations and realities have crossed my mind. The lack of fodder largely attributed to deforestation has hit the common farmer in these parts. Fodder is essentially the fuel that drives a village ecosystem.

In Madhya Pradesh, since time immemorial, the ‘aira’ pratha, allowing cattle to roam and graze in the forest has continued unabated. What has changed in recent times is the depletion of the green cover.

Today, hundreds and thousands of livestock eat just the remnants of the grass, which has dwindled their milking capacity. As the family size of the farmer has increased, a few litres of milk hardly sustain the farmer’s household. Similar scenarios unfolding have forced me to seek answers.

Almost all of these answers have come my way while sharing a camp fire with the local farmers. Knowing a bit of history, myth, and the language prevalent in those parts aids in making sure the farmers welcome you as one of their own.

Thanks to innumerable conversations shared over a bonfire, I have learnt the core issue in solving these probelms lies in the natural regeneration of the forest cover.

But how does one achieve the goal?

In order to retrieve the broken land, soil needs to be restored. Once the soil is restored, there will be enough fodder for the cattle to eat. This is the first layer of natural regeneration. The land thus restored acts as a source of fodder, leading the farmer into the subsequent layers of natural regeneration of green cover. Once the base is strong, integrating livestock, maximising bio-diversity, and minimising soil disturbances automatically come into the fold. The process then begins to flow.

My own learnings, which continue to shape the way I view the village ecosystem, are much like this natural regeneration of the forest. It is an ongoing process, one where I have come to realise that although my experiences are largely centered in Bundelkhand, this agrarian crisis is far from an isolated problem unique to Central India. Similar environmental stress affects nearly 60 per cent of the country, encompassing the nation's rain-fed and drought-prone areas.

Across large swathes of Tamil Nadu, Maharashtra, Odisha, Jharkhand, Andhra Pradesh, Rajasthan, and many other states, millions of smallholder and marginalised farmers face the exact same harsh conditions. As rainwater rushes off depleted land, topsoil washes into streams and into rivers, locking rural communities into a continuous cycle of hardship. This is a truly pan-Indian phenomenon.

For example, Uttarakhand, my home state, boasts of a heavy forest cover and receives heavy rainfall. Despite this, natural calamities have surged in the state, driving many young people to flee to urban centres in search of work.

As a matter of fact as I write this article, my hometown Bhimtal is raining like cats and dogs. Torrential downpour has halted much of our lives and we are praying the rains stop so that normalcy may resume. The fear of landslides, lakes over-spilling and cloud bursts accompany us every monsoon season.

Returning to the article it is a known fact that urban centres are swelling while rural lands are losing their fertility with every passing day.

This brings me to a deeper question: why do small farmers in these regions continue to lag behind? I am compelled to look closely at how Indian agriculture has evolved over the past century. Prior to Independence, technological advancements had not yet reached Indian villages. High-yielding seed varieties were unavailable, machine irrigation was virtually non-existent, and modern crop protection chemicals were unknown. To add to these woes, transport infrastructure was ancient, preventing farmers from moving produce to distant markets due to a complete lack of supply chain linkages.

Yes farmers didn’t have modern amenities before Independence, but it would be correct to say that nature was much stronger back then. The presence of abundant trees, healthy soil, and full water bodies kept the land rich and fertile. However, without proper farming tools and supplies, farmers still couldn't grow as much food as the land was capable of producing.

The country changed drastically following Independence, as the subsequent decades brought dramatic changes to the Indian farming system. The advent of the Green Revolution introduced high-yielding crop seeds, synthetic chemical fertilisers, modern insecticides and pesticides, and diesel-driven tubewells. As a result of these advancements, agricultural output rose considerably in the irrigated belts. It seemed technology had finally arrived to lift the farmers and position them as the biggest contributors driving the economy of the country. It is true that the largest group of people usually drives a country's economic growth. However, 80 years later, even though farmers make up the biggest part of the population, they contribute the least to the country's economy.

By looking closer, one finds a poignant observation in areas that rely on rainfall. While farming techniques got better, the environment suffered. In the irrigated belts or 1/3rd of India, the environmental degradation didnt hurt as badly as it hurt the rain-fed zones of the country.

With the passage of time, the degradation only worsened, notably because of the widespread felling of trees for expansion purposes. Aided by deforestation, the continuous loss through topsoil erosion and the subsequent removal of the fertile top layer comprising the holy trinity of Nitrogen, Phosphorous and Potassium resulted in the overall degradation of the land.

As is evident today, majority of the farmers find themselves caught up in a fresh struggle. Unlike their ancestors, today they do have access to modern seeds and advanced chemicals, but the natural factors don’t point in their favour.

High-yielding seeds of modern times require steady soil moisture and nutrient-rich earth to perform and improve the per-acre yield.

When rain falls on degraded or broken land, the water cannot sink into the ground. It forms high-speed surface run-off that washes away seeds, topsoil, and expensive fertilisers alike.

This draws our attention to an important question: Can modern technology alone deliver results on land that has lost its ecological foundation?

And if it cannot, then what is the way forward?

​Perhaps the path forward lies firstly in understanding how water moves across the landscape.

​The entire surface of the earth functions as a contiguous network of watersheds—an area of land where all falling rain water drains into a single common point. I have spoken about the same in a previous article titled, Healing the earth: Cooling the global fever.

In India, every village is fundamentally a micro-watershed. When a village works together through public participation to heal its own micro-watershed, the benefits quickly spill over to neighbouring villages. The transformation is visible, as groundwater tables recharge, leading to higher moisture in the soil during the dry months. Even the local microclimates become cooler and more hospitable to plant growth or biomass.

In a nutshell, the ridge-to-valley approach can be summarised as follows:

​Every village in India is a micro-watershed. Treating a village is similar to how you catch a snake. The snake is caught head-first.

​The ridge line, which could be as tall as the mighty Himalayas or barely high enough in the plains, needs to be planted with native trees, plants, and shrubs. As rainwater harvesting starts at the ridge line, the vagary is checked further through contours in the transition as it enters the valley, where it is captured on the surface lands.

​The technique is simple and ingrained in the DNA of the rural dwellers. Small check dams, earthen gully plugs, and farm ponds are constructed across water lines using locally available resources. These simple structures catch the flowing water, allow suspended silt to settle, and create bodies of water that sink deep into underground rock layers, refilling the hidden aquifers below.

​The presence of these water bodies allows fodder and water all year round for the livestock. The dependence of the livestock on the forest ecosystem reduces. The water bodies also provide water for irrigation purposes in the village, as crops can draw on steady subsoil moisture throughout the growing season.

On the contrary, some do argue or are forced to think that returning to traditional watershed restoration is difficult in modern times. Their concern is valid. The thinking minds then point to rising labour costs, expensive inputs, and a global focus on industrial growth as reasons why this process is impractical. Many believe that rural restoration requires massive financial investments and complex machinery that local communities cannot afford.

Restoring a village watershed does not require massive capital. The core strength of ridge-to-valley treatment lies in its simplicity and reliance on local materials.

Existing public employment schemes like MGNREGA or the newly termed VB-G-RAM-G allow using local manpower to convert government funding directly for community benefit and deveolpment.

Government schemes and financial allocation have always existed in the country to mitigate the above-mentioned ill-effects faced by the farmers of India.

Rebuilding India’s rainfed lands through practices which are innate to her local population does not mean rejecting modern progress.

Fusing modern technical knowledge with the latent wisdom of local farmers can restore the land and secure the future of rainfed rural communities.

Yesterday I came across an astounding piece of information while reading the news.

The Government of India announced its GDP growth for the first quarter of this year. It read 7.8 percent, which is remarkable. The news is even more remarkable considering the tremendous stress citizens all over the country are facing owing to wars and climate disasters.

This growth trajectory has been achieved through economic success in various fields such as technology, science, utilities, and commerce, supported by the irrigated segments of the agricultural sector. If greater focus and emphasis were placed on natural farming within unirrigated agricultural zones, the resulting impact would undoubtedly make this narrative even more encouraging. Natural farming would catalyse progress and catapult the GDP growth engine to even greater heights.

To top it all, life which was so beautiful in these parts in the yesteryears would regain the charm and beauty once again.

Perhaps that is one reason why, nearly eight decades after Independence, a growing movement of conscious urban dwellers in India finds itself drawn back to these very practices. This shift has popularised terms like natural farming, organic farming, sustainable community living, and eco-retreats. While the term permaculture was formalised in the West, its living spirit has long been grounded in the baked lands of India, just as traditional communities across Latin America, Africa, Australia, and Europe have relied on native ecosystems for centuries.

The modern model of today finds striking similarities with the ancient system. In India, pre-modern techniques of ploughing the ground with an ox and plough, enriched by bio-rich decaying leaves, ensured a natural yield. The cow provided milk, whilst dried and baked cow dung acted as fuel for household stoves to cook food. There was little waste. Despite a paucity of resources, people managed well by making the most of the natural resources around them.

Their deep resourcefulness is perhaps best described by how they deciphered the versatility of the mahua tree. The oil extracted from the seed inside the kernel, known as dori, served culinary and medicinal needs. The sweet dried flowers were ground into flour for chapatis or fermented into the potent country made liquor, Mahuarani, and the remaining biomass fuelled the hearth and land.

Yet, this insight was never limited to a single tree; it was part of a far broader way of looking at their surroundings. The farmers' ability to delve into such depths stemmed from a vision carried forward over centuries. For them, the basis of farming was not merely cultivable land, but the entire surrounding environment that decided its true worth. The availability of groundwater, soil-moisture content, the presence of flora as abundant biomass, and the health of the soil and subsoil played direct roles in determining their yield.

As modernity had not yet seeped into the depths of rural India, these practices enabled locals to use straw and bamboo to build huts capable of withstanding the forces of nature for at least two monsoon seasons. Their impeccable craftsmanship ensured some even lasted for five. Any flaws were easily mended, as the required materials were Swadeshi, grown right in the village. Just as earthworms at the farmstead work tirelessly together to create organic compost out of cow dung and organic waste, members of different communities came together to build homes and a stable future.

By contrast, much of today’s modern discourse on 'farm-to-table' fine dining celebrates the idea of strengthening supply chains and nurturing the soil to prevent ecological collapse. Yet, what the modern world now frames as a contemporary breakthrough is something the latent science of traditional Indian farmers and indigenous communities elsewhere achieved independently generations ago.

This self-contained ecosystem was surviving for centuries,until Independence arrived, and an old country breathed new life. In the enthusiasm and excitement of attaining freedom, ambitious agricultural revolutions emerged, targeted primarily to meet the growing food demands of a fast-growing economy. Urea, DDT, synthetic pesticides, and cooperative dairy farming succesfully captured the attention of the the nation, backed by emerging case studies that made these technological shifts feel almost magical.

Without evaluating all the merits and demerits, this decisive move away from natural, self-sustaining cycles set the stage for where the rural landscape stands today.

Through my endless journeys across the Indo-Gangetic and Central Plains of India, the intersection of the modern and old world has become clear. Initial years spent in urban centres have only deepened my appreciation for these raw textures of India.

On more than one occasion, one is reminded here of Munshi Premchand's Halku in Poos Ki Raat, shivering while guarding his fields on a cold, biting night alongside his trusted companion, Jhabra.

A hundred years later, on a winter afternoon as I pitch my tent along the fringes of a forest-dwelling village, colonial-era visions and sounds come to the fore. During the day, sunlight leads me along unexpected trails that paint a picture reminiscent of the story; at night, the moonlight illuminates a setting where the nilgais and wild boars are no different from the ones a century ago.

As forest cover has shrunk, forcing these animals into cultivated fields and causing damage to crops, the night is rarely silent. Voices screaming "Luha! Luha!" echo across the dark as torches flash and men alongside watchdogs chase off the intruders. To the farmer, it is purely dreadful, compounded by financial burdens as the cost of living rises.

The present mirrors the past in more ways than one, but back then, access to rich biomass meant that forest produce, including amla, mahua, chironji, and tendu leaves, ensured the farmer did not have to pay for basic subsistence in the market. The inhabitants and local resources were inseparable. This abundance ensured farming practices were sustainable and the subsequent produce healthier. 

Even though the British taxed and extracted cash crops, the existence of a deep pool of biodiversity ensured that the farmer had enough to remain physically and mentally resilient. Non-timber forest produce assisted in maintaining this vital balance. Today, as land shrinks and seasonal climatic imbalances take hold, that resilience is tested to its limits. Sleep rarely comes to the modern, ordinary farmer guarding his land with scarecrows and dogs at night. The cold is severe, his blankets are torn, and wool spills from the holes. Yet this is the same farmer whose community once reared sheep to weave warm blankets for the family and sell the surplus for a few paise. Today, those sheep no longer keep him company; frostbite has taken their place. Come summer, when the earth bakes and parched land turns green leaves dry, the shepherds and their goats present a pitiable sight. The churr-churr sound of a goat consuming those brittle leaves is not therapeutic; it is a soundtrack of survival.

While survival in the hinterlands has become a daily battle against environmental and man-made pressures, the wider world is discovering an appreciation for these traditional ecological systems. This is where modern permaculture steps in. Defined as a design system that works with nature rather than against it, permaculture echoes the ancestral wisdom that guided indigenous cultures across Latin America, Africa, Europe, and Asia for millennia. Practices like harvesting water, integrating crops with trees to curb soil erosion, managing waste naturally, and community collaboration were never taught in classrooms; they were second nature

This ancestral wisdom has found a strong resonance within urban clusters, where like-minded individuals and conscious communities are participating more actively in ecological living. As modern demands continue taxing urban dwellers, the movement back to natural roots is gaining momentum. Seeking healthier lifestyles, cleaner air, and a deeper connection to nature, citizens worldwide are embracing and valuing the wisdom that native villages lived by for generations.

It is heartening that the urban world now pines for what surrounds the rural residents of India every day: that which is natural, unadulterated, and organic. It comes as no surprise that the hinterlands of India even today abound with many wonders that nature has bestowed upon them. Yet, despite this shared desire for harmony, a subtle gap remains.

For the rural population, sadly, the vast masses who are the original custodians of this ecology, the Halkus standing guard in their farmland often struggle to maintain these systems. Caught up in the vicious cycle of shrinking land, degraded soil, depleted groundwater, chemical inputs, and scaled-up debts, the ordinary farmer lacks a clear path forward. Moreover, rising population demands on quickly depleting natural resources add to his woes.

Moving back to natural ways of life requires time, biomass, and a financial cushion. These are comforts that a debt-ridden struggling farmer cannot afford. Establishing direct supply chains to connect his healthy produce with conscious global consumers remains a challenge. Many remain unaware. The rural dweller is unable to break free from high-input farming models that break both his back and land. While sustainable living is becoming a welcome area of interest for the aware city dweller, the lives of rural citizens desire a lot more.

Across the world, urban-rural collaboration proves that a united community thrives where a lone farmer stumbles. When conscious urbanites bring skills and resources back to rural stewards, collective care restores shared lands and turns living family communes into practical, lasting reality.

The bridge is built - Will both sides cross it?

Time shall tell.

Till then, many in the village, including the young and the elderly, will continue pointing at the sky, hoping that the sky catches their signal and communicates by transmitting rain-laden clouds to douse the fire raging within the parched earth. If the clouds play smart, and don't darken, misery might unfold.

​Birds are the first storytellers. Since ancient times, mankind has relied heavily on them. Their flight patterns have predicted the weather; movies and novels have poetically cast them as messengers. Their presence has long been linked to tokens of gratitude and balance, and for many seekers worldwide, birds have nourished the soul. Right from the tiny passerines famous for their melodic songs to the blood-tinted, blood-spilling survivors or the raptors, birds have enthralled our imagination.

​In my case, birds convey all of the above and much more. To me, they convey pure thrill. While much has been written about their symbolic nature, I want to focus on this thrill and the other aspects of birding that truly satiate the soul.

​For starters, looks can be deceptive, and birds prove this theory continuously. The tiny ones are the most difficult to spot and even tougher to photograph. Years of practice may eventually attune your ears to the different songs and calls they make, but I still have a long way to go, so I rely primarily on my eyesight. My ears simply play a supporting role as they make me aware of a presence. And if, by luck, a camera is slung across my shoulders, the thrill of the chase kicks in.

​The eyes start darting, the body follows immediately, the internal antenna extends, and you are desperately following the trill of the bird. Habitats vary, landscapes change, weather fluctuates, and sunlight plays I spy. Nature is always moving and evolving. A human-like whistle that sounds like it’s coming from one direction might actually originate from the other. A subconscious impulse informs you that a songbird could be hiding under a bush down south. Your eyes fixate on the bush, trying hard to hold the gaze. A sudden movement of the wind rustling the undergrowth confirms the presence. Camera settings are checked, and the focus starts hunting in and around the dense foliage.

​Suddenly, a loud and repetitive whistle alerts you from behind. You are forced to turn, much to your surprise and dismay, as a Blue Whistling Thrush has tricked you once again. Nonetheless, she made sure her presence was felt. But the sun isn't in your favour, as it isn't perched behind you. If you are carrying an entry-level DSLR camera, you curse your luck; if a mirrorless system is your weapon of choice, you at least make sure to take a record shot.

​Now, the thing with passerines, be it the small ones or the bigger ones, that makes photographing them so thrilling and worth a good bout is that they are rarely still. Compared to a mammal, which is much larger, lazier, and perhaps unworthy of wearing a crown, a bird’s crown is mostly oscillating. The lore, forehead, and supercilium seem to conspire to conceal the eye as the crown moves in every direction. Your thumb on the joystick tries desperately to lock focus while your index finger itches to press the shutter. Meanwhile, your body remains frozen, your breathing shifts. Techniques like holding your breath or practising rhythmic inhalation and exhalation come into play. The telephoto barrel of your gear feels heavy, but your shoulders lock in to keep the body balanced. The left eye closes; the right eye remains glued to the viewfinder.

​Imagine the scenario: the setting is not a comfortable bird hide (I avoid hides, often classifying them as too convenient). Instead, you are on a monsoon trek. Thanks to the heavy rain, the pugdundee, or the beaten track, has ceased to exist, swallowed by dense undergrowth nearly kissing your knees. What’s the first thought crossing your mind? Hey birdie, hold still. Let me get the shot and get out before creepers, largely snakes, both venomous and non-venomous, poison my bloodstream.

​Time is ticking, and the bird continues to move. Around you, there are no human voices, only a heavy stillness in the air. You wonder: How can nature be so still?

​Amidst it all, the focus finally locks. But right before you press the shutter, the fluttering wings and the sharp metallic ‘keek-keek-kek-ke-kek’ of a Black Francolin pierces the silence. Just like you, the Verditer Flycatcher, your prized subject, gets the surprise of her life. Startled, she flies off. That keek-keek ensures your heartbeat keeps pumping at an unnatural frequency.

​Normality slowly resumes as you get back on the track, hating every wet "kiss" the grass underneath has smothered your legs with. The kiss turned sour; the stillness of the atmosphere conspired with a francolin to trick you. Reality hits. Nearby, you find a raised rock large enough to sit on. You squat there, head turning like a bird's crown, trying desperately not to let your disappointed heart get the better of you. What will the fighter answer to the Commanding Officer? All the training and hours spent imagining clicking a Verditer Flycatcher under crisp light have gone down the drain. Ripples magnify in the lake of your mind.

​But Nature isn't your competitor.

​Fortunately, your turning head, which was subconsciously imitating the bird, catches sight of the same Verditer Flycatcher roughly ten feet away. She winks, poses, and makes sure a strand of sunlight illuminates her plumage, making your lips mumble a quiet “Bleed Blue.” You don't hurry; you simply appreciate and thank her. In the mountain ranges of Kurmanchal, a creature smaller than your palm has transported you into an ocean of blue.

​The camera is ready, ISO dialled down, and the shutter speed set high enough that even if she flutters, the movement will be effortlessly frozen. With the focus locked and breath controlled better than a yoga master's, you press the shutter button and thank your sweetheart. One moment she showed you the brutality of a heartbreak; the very next, she taught you the art of healing.

​A moment as light as the flycatcher's feather yields a blockbuster. The movie had everything: fear, love, betrayal, comedy, a message, and most importantly, proof captured on the sensor. A vibrant, inclusive outing encompassing field knowledge, a precious frame, and an understanding of a new ecosystem comes to the fore.

​Similarly, spotting the blood-spilling guardians of the forest, the true majesty of the skies, kicks adrenaline levels to a degree that is difficult to transcribe into words. Their effortless mid-air dance, turning invisible winds into a living choreography of rising thermals, silent glides, and sudden, breathtaking power, leaves you begging for more. Rarely do you get to eye-level with a raptor, as they prefer perching like ghosts on the crown branches of the tallest trees. On the rare occasion your gazes lock, a sense of primal fear springs up, that intense sight intimidating you with the raw fury it could unleash. The blood-tinted lore adds a dash of theatre to the encounter.

​I recall one afternoon at home in January. I looked up to find the sky flooded with Steppe Eagles. Mind you, these predators travel all the way from the steppes of Mongolia, a land made famous by Genghis Khan, who defeated his mentor, Khan-Tooril. Far north of the Himalayas, those distant steppes have historically been drenched in blood, and Genghis knew no fear; history has documented his brutality far better than I ever could. Seeing the sky above me swarmed with these raptors, I grabbed my camera and ran towards the ridge line at Dhurre.

​Dhurre has always been a happy playground for me. Reaching it by traversing the steep forest incline bordering my home is a trek I take pride in climbing, especially in front of friends from the city. I made the rush: a distance of nearly three kilometres at an incline of fifty degrees or more. I know every turn of the trail by heart. Leaning slightly forward and moving in a zigzag pattern helps scale a steep hill faster. Experience told me the eagles would hover for a while, but excitement ensured I reached the top faster than usual.

​Panting and desperate for air, I looked up. There are no marked trails in the sky; the flight of the raptors is co-ordinated, yet it follows no fixed path. The entire skyscape is their domain, guarded by lethal talons and a gaze powerful enough to track an ant on a mound far below.

​As my breathing returns to normal, an emotion takes root deep within: these are spirits controlling the sky with an impeccable aura. No roars, no screams, just seamless flight maintaining the balance of the wild. The mountain ridge is high enough to bring me to eye level, and the sunlight works in my favour, allowing me to freeze the monarch of the skies. The maverick is recorded on film.

​It is here that the true nature of the ecosystem reveals itself. All doubts are put to rest. Words fail. Nature is invigorating, constantly engaging with you. Her grace is bountiful, her presence awe-inspiring. Seamlessly, she possesses the ability to merge with your spirit, inviting you to catch her essence and revel in a canvas painted in innumerable hues.

​The symphony welcomes you. You are left joyous, having finally tuned into the only frequency that truly matters in life.

​Behind the soft emergence of Lalima or the beautiful crimson hue that lights up the eastern sky at dawn just before the sun rises along the horizon, and the almost poetic, magical chirps, tweets, whistles, trills, and melodies that wake us up, is a mix of biology, survival, and communication shaped by millions of years of evolution.

​It is a known fact that birds are the last surviving dinosaurs. The avian toolkit (a four-chambered heart, hollow skeleton, toothless beaked jaws, and high metabolic rate) has enabled them to survive mass extinctions and co-exist with us. Equipped with a syrinx, a specialised vocal organ located at the base of their trachea, many species can control both sides of their vocal tract independently, essentially singing a two-part harmony with themselves.

​The sound or song that we consider a greeting every morning is essentially acoustic signalling that reveals the health, genetics, and soundly functioning nervous system of the bird, along with other characteristics. Mind you, they don't sing to reveal it to us, but for territorial domination and breeding season signals, which could be mating calls or warning signs, to name a few.

​At the heart of this evolutionary toolkit is the dawn chorus, reverberating loudest in the morning. The chorus is heard everywhere, ranging from tropical rainforests to dry deciduous or moist forests, deserts, snow-clad mountains, beaches, rain-fed villages, and even the most developed urban clusters. Regardless of regional climate or vegetation, pre-dawn air is universally the coolest and stillest of the day across the globe. This creates a quiet pre-dawn window with minimal atmospheric interference, allowing sound waves to travel farther and sound clearer. As the day unfolds, the rising afternoon heat creates turbulence that breaks up sound waves, making calls harder to hear. A drop in testosterone levels (as per some reports) as the day progresses is another reason why the songs hit peak volume at dawn.

Hunger plays an important role, too. Birds roost at dusk, spending nearly ten hours or more without food. Basic intuition might suggest that birds would forage immediately, but their cognitive ability, developed over millions of years, has taught them not to strain their visual receptors in low light. Before the sun is fully up, their specialised visual cones cannot quite see tiny, hidden bugs or seeds on the ground, so looking for food early is tough and ineffective. Instead, they conserve energy and broadcast messages to one another during this acoustic window. As the sun rises over the horizon, one observes birds foraging for food. The sequence of events that unfolds demonstrates an incredibly effective use of energy. While most species also participate in a dusk chorus before calling it a night, it fails to match the sheer intensity of the morning performance.

​In the cities, I have observed bird songs starting even earlier than usual so that traffic noise doesn't drown them out. The adaptability of birds is astounding; how seamlessly they integrate primal instincts into contemporary circumstances is truly impressive.

​Beyond survival and reproduction lies another fascinating element: the art of practice and learning. Juvenile birds and fledglings are often seen observing and listening closely to their elders so they can grasp and master the vocalisation techniques needed for survival.

​Nature manifests in different forms, displaying remarkable harmony. Pre-dawn to sunrise, which is generally quiet for most humans, is the most important communication event of the day for nearly 11,000 species of birds. Every morning, we witness a masterclass that fuses science and beauty. These songs and activities remind us that the quietest moments for some often carry the deepest meanings for others.

​Nearly 80 to 85 percent of the earth's biomass, or perhaps even more(99.7 percent as per some studies), is plants. Animals and humans constitute roughly 0.3 percent of global biomass. Mankind, which considered plants as passive organisms (largely attributed to plant blindness), is beginning to recognise them as active, aware participants in our shared ecosystem.

​While reading Dr Mancuso's observations, I got reminded about an article that I wrote titled "Soul of the Trees" which spoke about something similar. During my tryst with forests, learning about the subterranean Wood Wide Web and mycorrhizal networks led me to the satisfying belief that trees communicate and live in a commune. Basic education of botany back in school and university and Dr J.C. Bose's crescograph offered an early entry into the active life of plants. The recent scientific discovery has offered profound and direct insights into this wonderful world.

My article stated, perhaps ​trees have no ego, seek no validation, and are free from vanity, serving as a reminder that consciousness is ingrained in the self when we shed external superficial layers. Wandering between trees, the feeling of a connection with an energy emanating from the surroundings often baffled me, making me wonder if I had felt the soul of the trees and whether a walk in the woods connects our soul with theirs.

​The constant effort of physicists and scientists to recognise the position of plants, first in space through their relationships to other organisms (fully aware of their position in the environment), and finally in relationship to time, reveals their spatial awareness, intentionality, and consciousness. This marks a fundamental paradigm shift from an anthropogenic worldview to biocentrism, proving that what we intuitively sense as a spiritual connection is an empirical reality, opening a doorway to an existence of believing in the concept of a shared ecosystem.

She worshipped him at the altar of love.

Together, they loved forever,

Though "making love," was felt never.

For how can you make something which is already there?

Love is divine.

The shallow devil wears the garments of vanity, but the deepest evil disguises itself beneath frailty, spiritualism, consciousness, and divine love for camouflage.

As the dagger moved, love pierced the heart, spilling blood everywhere and opening it to pain. Love was used as a tool, not as a bridge.

मसाइब और थे पर दिल का जाना

अजब इक सानेहा सा हो गया है।

(There were other afflictions, but the departure of the heart became a strange kind of tragedy.)

The noise of the world faded into cavernous pathways. The wound remained, and in that quiet heaviness the distinction became absolute: whilst frailty, consciousness, spiritualism, and love can be weaponised in the journey of seeking the self, only the pure truly connect the self with the Divine.

​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."