All my life I have seen and heard that India, overall, is in a bad way ('e deshtar kichhu hobe na' , this country has no future, is something I have heard as a lifelong refrain among moderately educated people in the middle class, which, some observers say, is being crushed anyway). Well, maybe that's true, but at my age I have stopped putting all the blame squarely on our politicians, regardless of their party affiliation and professed ideology. Several reasons why.
First of all, from a spiritual point of view, I am not a very deep believer in western ideas about the infinite perfectibility of man and the human condition. No matter how much 'progress' we try to bring about by political, commercial and technological means, our 'solutions' only create more and new problems, and also, there are many problems that simply do not have a cure. You have to learn how to deal with life with the least possible stress and suffering: no one can make a world that is nice for everyone. Hence all my concern with the spiritual path.
Secondly, politics has always been called merely 'the art of the possible', and there are strict limits to what is possible and achievable by politicians, even if they are very well-intentioned, public spirited, committed and energetic (which most are not!). You simply cannot improve whole societies very much against their will, at least not in the short or medium term. Besides, in broadly (loosely) democratic societies, politicians, elected by the people, must necessarily reflect the people's common tastes, habits and predilections - thus India cannot be made a quiet, peaceful, orderly, cleanliness- and hard work- and honesty loving society, because too many people would find that unbearable.
Thirdly, from the history of the world over the last few hundred years, ever since different sorts of 'progressive' governments started coming to power, we have seen that no matter how much they try, great inequalities of income, wealth and opportunity will continue to exist in every society. When some kinds of old privileges and privileged classes are weakened or removed (such as feudal lords and priests, or business tycoons and technocrats), they are invariably replaced by new ones (like the apparatchiki and 'princelings' in officially communist countries, or the new scheduled caste- and female elites in contemporary India, who have taken full advantage of affirmative action laws and insist that their pampered progeny should go on getting the same). Some countries are more just and fair in some eras than others, of course, but it is a matter of sheer luck where and to whom one is born, and one will enjoy or suffer much accordingly for no merit or fault of one's own.
Finally, in India at least, we as a people broadly speaking do not want much change, no matter which section of society we belong to. Children become very much like their parents, and the old underprivileged, as soon as they are a little better off, start imitating their earlier 'superiors' in their likes and dislikes. So any big change is likely to be brought about only piecemeal, in firefighting fashion, provoked by extraneous shocks - such as foreign conquest or economic crisis (as the reforms of 1991 were compelled by the economic crisis that preceded them). Well, I am an Indian myself, by genes, tradition, education and experience, so I have always hated the idea of revolutions anyway, convinced that revolution devours its own children, and causes too much harm along with too little good. So I must resign myself to gradualism (slavery was abolished after thousands of years, after all, and women did finally get the vote and right to property), keep faith in democratic socialism (which is why I regard Zohran Mamdani as a true wunderkind and wish him the best of luck) and, to stop myself from becoming a tired and cynical old man like Kedar Chatujjye in Parashuram's stories, put the rest of my trust in God. There will not be much change for the better in my time, of that I am sure, and I worry that things might get worse in my children's time.
P.S., Nov. 17: Good to see that this blog is now being regularly read in all inhabited continents!
6 comments:
Sir,
Reading your words feels like sitting beside someone who has truly watched life — not just lived it. You speak with a kind of calm honesty that only comes from long experience, and it makes me think deeply.
You are right: we often blame politicians or governments, but the truth is bigger than that. A country cannot change unless its people want to change, and most of us prefer our old ways, even if we complain about them. Hearing this from you makes it easier to accept reality without anger.
I also understand what you say about progress. For years we were taught that everything can be improved, everything can be fixed — but life shows us that some problems do not have quick solutions. Some problems are simply part of the human condition. Your words remind me that real peace comes not from changing the whole world, but from changing ourselves.
What touched me most is your belief in gradual change. Quiet improvement. Patient effort. Not loud revolutions or dramatic promises. It feels true — the small steps people take, the small acts of goodness, matter far more in the long run than big speeches or sudden movements.
And the way you connect this understanding with spirituality… it brings a kind of steadiness.
You have also written something very powerful: that we must prepare ourselves for a future that may not become easier, but still live with dignity, kindness and faith. That is not pessimism — that is the courage to face life as it is.
Thank you, sir, for sharing these thoughts. They do not depress me; they clear my mind. And maybe that’s how the story ends for now — not with big promises or sudden change, but with a quiet acceptance of how the world really moves. Things may improve slowly, some things may not improve at all, and the future will bring its own tests. But even then, there is a small, steady belief that life will find its way forward, the same way it always has.
And the way I look at life, sir, is this: we may not change the whole world, but we can still walk through it with a little hope. After all, as Dumbledore said,
“Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light.”
Regards,
Rudra.
I feel profoundly happy and grateful that such a comment should come from someone so young, Rudra. You have grown up early, and grown up a great deal - something I won't say about many people who are now my age! May your life, as a result, be far more rewarding to yourself and enriching for many others.
Dear Suvroda
I often wonder if the world has ever truly experienced a steady state. Yet, what concerns me more is the possibility that we, and future generations might stop seeking knowledge (or exploring in the true sense). If humanity becomes unable to think beyond the confines of a phone screen, I fear society could reach a troubling stalemate.
Regards
Tanmoy
PS: When you read Ulysses to us, some of us were immensely motivated.
Oh, I keep wondering whether humanity will soon degenerate to the level so appallingly portrayed in the deeply disturbing animation movie 'Wall-E'.
As for the reference to the poem 'Ulysses', many thanks for the memory :)
Sir,
Reading this post felt like being guided, once again, through the long arc of history and human nature by someone who has watched both with unblinking clarity. What struck me most is how gently but firmly you detach yourself from the comforting illusion that “progress” is a straight line — an illusion our era clings to with almost religious fervour.
Your skepticism toward the Western belief in endless perfectibility reminded me of Dostoevsky’s warning: “Man is sometimes extraordinarily, passionately in love with suffering.” We build new systems thinking they will liberate us, only to discover that human nature quietly finds ways to recreate its old chains. It is sobering, and also strangely calming, to hear you say aloud what most people sense but refuse to articulate: that some problems have no cure, only a wiser way of bearing them.
Your reflections on politics felt equally grounded. The reminder that politicians, especially in loosely democratic societies, must reflect the people’s tastes — even their worst ones — is brutally true. As Burke put it, “Their virtue, if they have any, must be their own; their errors are the errors of the nation.” A society that cannot bear quietness, cleanliness, discipline or honesty will inevitably elect leaders who do not press it too hard toward those things. This is not cynicism; it is simply the mechanics of a civilization.
The passage about new elites replacing old ones was one of the clearest formulations of a historical pattern that repeats far more reliably than any “five-year plan.” The world has seen it in monarchies, republics, communist states, post-colonial administrations — aristocrats becoming bureaucrats, bureaucrats becoming oligarchs, and old privileges resurfacing in new clothes. As George Orwell noted, “The creatures outside looked from pig to man, and from man to pig… but already it was impossible to say which was which.” Your point that inequality reconstitutes itself is painfully hard to dispute.
The section that stayed with me the longest is your observation that Indians, across classes, ultimately do not want very much change — that they imitate upwards while clinging fiercely to inherited habits. That explains, more lucidly than any political theory, why our progress comes only in jolts triggered by crisis. Lord Acton once wrote, “History is not a burden on the memory but an illumination of the soul.” Your analysis illuminates the soul of this society: its durability, its resistance, its slow churn.
Your embrace of gradualism — and your distrust of dramatic upheavals — feels deeply earned. Revolutions promise purity but leave ruins; reforms stumble forward but leave something standing. The line about refusing to become “a tired and cynical old man like Kedar Chatujjye” was both humorous and poignant. It reminded me of Camus’ quiet exhortation: “In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.” To keep faith in democratic socialism, in slow change, and in the spiritual path — that is, in a sense, your own invincible summer.
The anxiety for your daughter’s generation felt especially heartfelt. Yet even here you hold yourself to sobriety, not despair. And perhaps that is the moral force behind the entire post: a call to see clearly, without rage or romanticism, and to continue living decently even when the trajectory of society is uncertain.
Thank you, Sir, for writing this. Posts like these do not simply inform; they orient the mind. They remind us that while we cannot remake the world in any grand fashion, we can strive, as Marcus Aurelius urged, “to be the one good man in a world of bad.” Even that is no small contribution.
Good to hear from you after a long time, Rajdeep. I hope all is well with you. And many thanks for taking time out to write such a long, so very well-thought -out and appreciative comment. The quotations were a good bonus, too.
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