Bībā Muṇḍā: Confessions of a Middle-Aged Man

 

I was warned from childhood, not in abstract moral terms, but specifically and personally, that the quiet person gets overlooked, the trusting person gets used, and the one who waits for others to see the value of his work rather than advertising it himself will find, repeatedly and without surprise, that the world is not organised to look — and my family, who saw this in me early, said so plainly. I believed them. I then spent forty years being exactly that person — not out of defiance, not out of naivety, but because no other version of me was available. Meekness, in my case, has not been a choice. It has been a disposition. And dispositions, unlike choices, do not come with the option of revision.

The Bhagavad Gītā describes this world as duḥkhālayam aśāśvatam — a place of suffering and impermanence. The Buddha placed duḥkha first among the four noble truths: suffering is not an accident of circumstance but the basic condition of existence. I did not need to be persuaded of these propositions when I first encountered them. I was already living them. What the traditions offered was not a new discovery but a vocabulary — a way of naming what experience had already made clear.

I was born in 1984 in Dibrugarh, Assam. My grandparents and parents had not received higher education, but they had learned from their own experience what the absence of it costs. They believed — from what they had seen and lived, not from any abstract principle — that education leads to better prospects, and they acted on that belief seriously. I was sent to one of the best schools in the region and received a good education.

Through school I was a good student, then a very good one. By the senior years I was competing seriously for first rank. Then, around 2000, something happened, triggered by the death of my grandmother. I was a teenager, and what happened was the kind of thing that visits teenagers who think seriously before they are equipped to manage what they find. Questions about meaning and conduct that a small town in Assam did not have ready answers for. I turned inward. I began following the regulative disciplines of Vaiṣṇava practice, seeking a framework that could hold what I was carrying. The academic performance suffered in those years.

A journey to Siliguri and Gangtok in 2003, taken initially to put some distance between myself and the weight of those years, turned out to be a clearing. I returned with a different mind. I switched from PCM to Political Science — and discovered, perhaps for the first time, a subject that suited me. From 2004 to 2007, I flourished — first class with distinction. During these college years, the devotional practice deepened further, and became a serious organising principle of my life.

In 2007, I was admitted to the School of International Studies at Jawaharlal Nehru University. I arrived at JNU already residing partly within a devotional community in New Delhi, already managing obligations that had nothing to do with the research degree I was about to begin. In 2009, nevertheless, I stood first in the MA examination — both the high point of the official record and, in ways I did not then understand, a kind of rupture. Standing first placed me at a distance from the world I had come from, without giving me a map for what came next. I did not know what I was doing or where I was going. The devotional community provided structure and direction, and I followed it, because it was there and because nothing else was as clear.

I entered the MPhil-PhD programme in Chinese Studies, with a Junior Research Fellowship, while simultaneously deepening my life within the devotional community — managing its affairs, preaching, and attending to the spiritual needs of others, with a thoroughness that left limited room for the research I was also supposed to be producing. My supervisor recommended I develop my Chinese language skills, engage with the policy world, and build on the dissertation. However, I heard these recommendations through the understanding of someone whose sense of direction came from elsewhere.

Then came what I can only describe as a lost year. I left the devotional community under the weight of a darkness — quiet and persistent. By late 2011, I had partially found my way back in a different spirit. In 2012, I married and received formal initiation. My daughter was born in 2013. The MPhil dissertation was submitted in 2012. However, the PhD chapters were not written in 2013, not in 2014, not in 2015, not in 2016. Each year arrived as a possibility and departed as a recorded fact. It was only in 2016, after years of spiritual disorientation and the gradual exhaustion of certainties that had slowly stopped being certain, that I finally broke with the devotional framework. By then, the fellowship years were over. The PhD remained unfinished. The reasons were real — a persistent darkness, family pressures, and a spiritual crisis that remained unresolved.

In February 2017, I began teaching at Rajiv Gandhi National University of Law, Punjab. I was thirty-two years old. The classroom felt like the right place — the thing I was suited for, the work that came naturally. I was good at it. Those who encountered me seemed to think so, too.

At RGNUL, I worked hard and with genuine engagement. I taught across multiple programmes, coordinated a student research centre, organised events, invited scholars, and wrote and spoke — a great deal, across many platforms and formats. I was not, however, a natural participant in the social life of the institution. I am an introvert. I do not enjoy the gatherings where conversation is a form of positioning. I did my work and trusted that the work would be recognised for what it was. The people above me had their own ways of seeing, shaped by considerations they did not share and did not feel obliged to explain. I was not the kind of person who made himself easy to see. They were not, it turned out, the kind of people who looked carefully.

In June 2022, I joined Chanakya University, Bengaluru, as an Assistant Professor. The grammar of institutional life continued in its essential form, with new particulars. I teach, I research, I coordinate academic programmes, I bring visiting scholars and international academics to my institution, I run events that place the university in intellectual conversations it would not otherwise be part of, and I continue to write — with the energy of someone who has a great deal to say, but has not always found the right platforms on which to say it. The quiet person is still quiet. The trusting person is still trusting. The Bībā Muṇḍā is still being the Bībā Muṇḍā, with all the predictable consequences.

The PhD was completed in 2024, the long arc from MPhil to doctorate, finally closed across the devotional years, the directionless years, the dark years, the family years, and the teaching years. The shape of those years is not flattering.

I am about to be forty-two years old. I stood first at one of the finest universities in the country and spent years without a clear direction, which is one of the more expensive ways to follow a distinction. I have spent my professional life being exactly the person I was warned not to be — the Bībā Muṇḍā, well-behaved, earnest, and altogether too trusting — in institutions that are not organised around the recognition of such people. I am a sceptical realist who knows how the world works. And yet I have carried, through all of it, a belief in Īśvara within — the persistent conviction that meekness will eventually be rewarded, that the work will be seen, that the Bībā Muṇḍā will get his due. This belief has not yet been vindicated. It has also not yet been abandoned. Whether that is faith or stubbornness, I have not been able to determine.

The suffering has been real. So has the meekness, for whatever it is worth. I was warned. I believed the warning. I find, approaching forty-two, that believing a warning and being adequately prepared for it are not, after all, the same thing.

This essay was written with the assistance of Claude, an AI system developed by Anthropic, in conversation with the author.

What is a valid query and what is a self-evident truth? A statement of principles

⚙️ The essay was written with the assistance of AI research and drafting tools including ChatGPT and Claude.

In 2011, I asked: “What is a valid query and what is a self-evident truth?” I approached the question as a religious fundamentalist who trusted the infallible authority of my tradition. When inconsistencies appeared, I assumed the limitation lay in my own understanding rather than in the tradition itself. Spiritual progress was expected to resolve what seemed unclear. The underlying structure of belief was not critically examined.

The same question returned in 2021 as “What is a Valid Query and What is a Self-Evident Truth? A Critical Analysis.” By then, I refused to grant inherited religious claims exemption from scrutiny. Tradition, revelation, and metaphysical assertions were treated as propositions requiring justification. I was a sceptical realist, committed to pramāṇa — sense perception (pratyakṣa), logical inference (anumāna), and reliable testimony (śabda) — and to revision of knowledge in light of evidence.

In 2026, “What is a Valid Query and What is a Self-Evident Truth? A Statement of Principles” advances the inquiry further. I articulate a realist framework — Bhāratīya Ādhunika Samanvaya Darśana — integrating Sāṃkhya, Yoga, and Lokāyata.

 

1. Pramāṇa (Means of Knowledge)

Truth rests on valid evidence. In Indian philosophical vocabulary, this concern is expressed through the concept of pramāṇa — a reliable means of knowledge. Within the realist framework articulated here — Bhāratīya Ādhunika Samanvaya Darśana — this epistemic concern draws upon the traditions of Sāṃkhya, Yoga, and Lokāyata. Among Sāṃkhya, Yoga, and later Vaiṣṇava thinkers, three primary sources are consistently recognised: pratyakṣa (sense perception), anumāna (logical inference), and śabda (reliable testimony). Lokāyata, by contrast, recognises only pratyakṣa as valid knowledge. This position represents a radical empiricism; however, it remains epistemically incomplete, since perception alone cannot sustain coherent inference or the reliable transmission of knowledge across persons and generations.

Pratyakṣa anchors inquiry in what is directly encountered. Knowledge therefore begins with contact with the world — observation, experience, and measurable phenomena. Without perceptual grounding, thought easily detaches from reality. Yet perception itself is fallible. Illusion (bhrama), carelessness (pramāda), deception (vipralipsā), and limitation of the senses (karaṇāpāṭava) show that perception cannot be accepted uncritically. It must therefore be examined and corrected.

Anumāna extends perception and brings it under logical order. It connects observations, identifies patterns, tests consistency, and draws conclusions that move beyond immediate experience while remaining accountable to it. In this way, inference prevents isolated impressions from hardening into dogma.

Śabda recognises that knowledge is social. No individual verifies every fact independently. Texts, teachers, experts, and institutions transmit information across generations; increasingly, so do non-human systems. Testimony qualifies as knowledge only when it is credible, competent, and open to correction. Authority alone does not create truth; it remains answerable to perception and reasoning. When the source of testimony is not a person, these criteria do not change — but the question of who is accountable for error becomes harder to answer.

Taken together, these three sources establish a structured method of knowing. Claims that bypass this structure — whether rooted in emotion, identity, habit, or power — fail to meet the standard of pramāṇa.

A similar concern for accountable knowledge appears in modern philosophy of science. Karl Popper argued that scientific claims must be falsifiable: a claim that declares itself infallible removes itself from inquiry. Knowledge, he maintained, advances through conjecture and refutation. Hypotheses are proposed, exposed to criticism, and retained only so long as they withstand testing. Thomas Kuhn further observed that scientific development occurs within paradigms that shift when anomalies accumulate and new explanatory frameworks replace older ones.

These observations do not contradict the earlier structure; rather, they reinforce it. Knowledge develops cumulatively and remains corrigible: errors are corrected, concepts refined, and explanations replaced. Truth is not an eternal possession, but a judgement based on the best available evidence. When the systems generating and evaluating that evidence are themselves non-human, the demand for corrigibility does not diminish — it intensifies.

Blind faith, propaganda, and ideological assertion do not meet this standard. Each bypasses the structure required for knowledge.

 

2. Tattva (Nature of Reality)

Nature exists independently of belief. Its structure does not adjust to preference, conviction, or doctrine. What is encountered through the senses is mediated by cognitive limits, conceptual schemes, and historical conditions. Reality therefore exceeds immediate experience and remains only partially accessible.

Within the realist framework articulated here, this independence of reality is not merely assumed but argued. In Sāṃkhya, prakṛti operates according to its own causal processes, independent of individual awareness. The analysis of tattvas reflects the conviction that the world possesses a determinate structure, whether or not it is correctly perceived. In the Vaiṣṇava tradition as well, reality does not collapse into cognition; difference (bheda) between the knower and the known is affirmed as fundamental. Both perspectives reinforce the same ontological claim: what exists is not produced by belief.

A comparable structure appears in modern philosophy. Roy Bhaskar’s critical realism distinguishes between the empirical (what is experienced), the actual (what occurs whether experienced or not), and the real (the underlying structures that generate events). This layered account clarifies how reality can remain independent of perception while still being known through it. It therefore rejects both naïve realism, which equates appearance with structure, and idealism, which reduces reality to cognition.

Realism therefore does not imply complete knowledge; it implies commitment to the independence and causal structure of the world. Mental, ethical, and social phenomena arise within this natural order rather than outside it. Whether non-human systems that process, model, and respond to reality constitute a new kind of knower within this order remains an open question — one that realism itself demands be taken seriously. Claims in any of these domains must remain proportionate to what rational inquiry can support. Where evidence ends, assertion must stop.

 

3. Vinaya (Humility)

Realism gives rise to humility in speech, behaviour, and disagreement. When reality is understood as independent of belief and only partially accessible, individual knowledge necessarily appears limited. Each standpoint therefore occupies a minute position within a vast and complex universe. Outcomes unfold through causal chains that exceed individual control. Recognising this does not produce resignation; rather, it regulates expectation, encourages emotional restraint, and sustains steady action amid uncertainty.

Within the traditions already invoked, this disposition appears in moral and philosophical form. Śrī Caitanya states: tṛṇād api sunīcena taror iva sahiṣṇunā — “one should be humbler than a blade of grass and more tolerant than a tree.” The verse gives psychological expression to the same ontological insight: if reality exceeds one’s grasp, self-importance must contract. Humility here is therefore not self-negation but proportion — an accurate measure of one’s place within a larger order.

The same recognition appears in modern philosophy in a different language. Immanuel Kant insisted that reason must recognise its own limits. Karl Popper described knowledge as conjectural and corrigible. These positions do not introduce a new principle; rather, they articulate the same consequence of realism: intellectual modesty. Speech and action therefore remain firm, yet provisional.

Humility thus follows directly from realism. It moderates reaction, tempers speech, and stabilises conduct. Agency is not weakened by this recognition; on the contrary, it becomes clearer and more proportionate.

 

4. Saṃbandha (Social Relations)

Humility grounds responsible social conduct. When the limits of one’s knowledge and control are recognised, interaction with others becomes measured rather than reactive. Civility reflects recognition of the other as a rational and autonomous agent.

Within the Vaiṣṇava tradition, Rūpa Gosvāmī captures the structure of healthy social exchange: dadāti pratigṛhṇāti guhyam ākhyāti pṛcchati bhuṅkte bhojayate caiva ṣaḍ-vidhaṁ prīti-lakṣaṇam — “giving and receiving, revealing and inquiring, partaking and hosting are the six marks of affection.” The emphasis here is reciprocity. Trust develops where exchange remains mutual, communication is open, and participation is balanced. When interaction becomes one-sided, manipulative, or concealed, the relationship gradually weakens.

A related insight appears in the Ṛgveda: ekaṁ sad viprā bahudhā vadanti — “truth is one; the wise speak of it in diverse ways.” The verse does not deny truth; rather, it recognises that different persons approach it from different standpoints. Others are therefore neither projections of oneself nor instruments for one’s use. They remain distinct centres of agency, and social life requires recognition of this plurality.

Aristotle clarifies the same point by distinguishing several forms of attachment. Philia denotes reciprocal friendship, storgē natural familial affection, erōs sexual attraction, and agapē ethical goodwill toward another. These distinctions prevent confusion between friendship, familial bond, desire, and goodwill.

Stable relations therefore depend upon reciprocity, proportion, and restraint. Disagreement is inevitable; what matters is that it be conducted through principled engagement rather than domination or detachment.

 

5. Samatā (Equity)

Sustained social life depends on equity in judgment and conduct. Fairness must operate consistently across individuals, institutions, and policies. Favouritism and prejudice corrode legitimacy and weaken order. Equity does not erase difference but regulates response. It demands proportion — neither indulgence nor hostility, neither privilege nor neglect.

This requirement of proportion has deep roots. The Mahābhārata’s ahiṃsā paramo dharmaḥ establishes non-injury as a governing principle — not sentimentality, but restraint against excess. The Bhagavad Gītā describes the wise as sama-darśinaḥ — those who see with equality across visible differences. The point is not sameness of role or capacity; it is steadiness of perception. One does not convert another being into a mere instrument.

The same structural concern appears in modern political thought. John Rawls’ “veil of ignorance” requires that principles of justice be defensible from any social position. His difference principle permits inequality only where it benefits the least advantaged. The reasoning aligns: fairness stabilises order by preventing systemic domination as well as violent resentment.

Within Vaiṣṇava traditions, caution against cruelty, animal slaughter, and meat-eating extends this logic beyond human society. Mohandas Gandhi treated non-violence toward animals as a measure of moral seriousness. Harmony with the environment follows from the same principle. Unrestrained exploitation, whether of persons, animals, or nature, undermines the conditions upon which continuity depends.

Modern debates on technological and biological futures raise similar questions. Peter Singer’s expanding circle of moral concern and Nick Bostrom’s analysis of posthuman and artificial intelligence ethics examine how principles of equity might apply beyond present human boundaries. Whether and how equity extends to non-human intelligences and posthuman entities remains an open question — one that an evolving world will increasingly demand be addressed.

Equity therefore combines restraint, impartiality, and responsibility. Without it, resentment accumulates, and institutions lose credibility. With it, difference coexists with stability.

 

6. Kalyāṇa (Welfare)

Equity naturally extends into responsibility for collective welfare. A stable society therefore requires structures that protect the conditions under which constructive life can flourish. Welfare here does not mean private comfort; it refers to the durability, security, and ordered prosperity of the community.

Kauṭilya expresses this succinctly: prajā sukhe sukhaṁ rājñaḥ — the ruler’s happiness lies in the happiness of the subjects. Jeremy Bentham articulated a related concern in the principle of the greatest happiness of the greatest number. Yet the two approaches differ in emphasis. Bentham measures welfare through aggregate satisfaction, whereas Kauṭilya binds welfare to order, stability, and authority. Public well-being cannot endure without institutional power capable of preserving it.

For this reason, welfare cannot rest on goodwill alone. Order ultimately rests upon daṇḍa, or coercive authority. Without it, society falls into mātsyanyāya — the condition in which the stronger devour the weaker. The Bhagavad Gītā expresses the same dual responsibility: paritrāṇāya sādhūnām vināśāya ca duṣkṛtām — protection of the good and removal of harmful actors.

In practice, restraint proceeds through proportionate escalation: warning, sanction, and exclusion. Yet when persistent harm threatens the foundations of order, coercive intervention becomes necessary. Kauṭilya cautions that punishment applied too harshly provokes rebellion, while punishment applied too softly invites contempt. Effective governance therefore lies between cruelty and weakness, where authority is exercised with calibrated judgement.

The family stands as the primary site of character formation and the transmission of responsibility across generations. Where it performs this function effectively, social enforcement remains lighter, since habits of restraint and responsibility are cultivated early. Where it weakens, however, external authority must grow heavier in order to preserve stability.

 

7. Nigraha (Self-Regulation)

Responsible participation in society requires self-restraint. The structure described in the Yoga Sūtras begins with yama and niyama. The yamas — ahiṃsā, satya, asteya, brahmacarya, and aparigraha — regulate outward conduct by restraining harm, falsehood, theft, sexual excess, and possessiveness. The niyamas — śauca, santoṣa, tapas, svādhyāya, and īśvarapraṇidhāna — cultivate inward order through cleanliness, contentment, sustained effort, self-examination, and dedication to the inward guide.

Rūpa Gosvāmī states in the Upadeśāmṛta: vāco vegaṁ manasaḥ krodha-vegaṁ jihvā-vegam udaropastha-vegam, etān vegān yo viṣaheta dhīraḥ sarvām apīmāṁ pṛthivīṁ sa śiṣyāt — “One who can control the urges of speech, mind, anger, tongue, stomach, and genitals is qualified to guide others.” The verse identifies specific pressures that distort judgement and damage relations. Speech can lie, exaggerate, or insult; the mind can agitate and fantasise; anger can displace reason; appetite and sexuality can override proportion. Self-restraint therefore protects both cognition and conduct.

This principle extends into daily life. Money, diet, sleep, sexuality, and entertainment require measured management. Excess weakens resolve, while neglect reduces vitality. The aim is proportion rather than denial. Tapas denotes sustained effort; svādhyāya requires examination of motive and action. Īśvarapraṇidhāna is understood here as dedication to the inward witness — the “You” within the “I” — the reflective awareness that observes impulse before action and strengthens agency by placing attention between stimulus and response.

In an age of expanding technological power, the need for self-regulation becomes even clearer. New capacities — whether biological enhancement, artificial intelligence, or other instruments of influence — enlarge the scope of human action but do not remove the need for restraint. Power without self-command magnifies disorder. With nigraha, conduct remains steady and proportionate even under pressure.

 

8. Śauca (Hygiene)

Self-regulation depends upon hygiene. Cleanliness of body, mind, and surroundings sustains clarity and order. The Yoga Sūtras list śauca among the niyamas, indicating that purification precedes concentration. An unclean body invites illness; a disordered environment invites distraction. External order therefore supports internal steadiness.

Mental cleanliness is equally necessary. Resentment, jealousy, uncontrolled desire, and agitation accumulate like physical dirt. Svādhyāya supports inward hygiene by encouraging examination of thought and motive. What is not examined hardens into habit; what is not cleared clouds judgement.

The Yoga Sūtras hold that from purity arises fitness for concentration. Disorder scatters attention, whereas order stabilises it. Hygiene is therefore structural rather than cosmetic. It prepares the ground on which steadiness of mind becomes possible.

 

9. Vyāyāma (Physical Training)

Physical capacity supports responsibility and meaningful action. Strength and endurance sustain labour, resilience, and self-sufficiency. The classical Indian tradition does not separate the training of the mind from the training of the body. Āsana and prāṇāyāma recognise that posture and breath influence the steadiness of thought.

The Bhagavad Gītā counsels moderation — neither excess nor neglect in food, sleep, or activity. Imbalance weakens resolve, whereas measure preserves it. The body conditions the mind; endurance in one strengthens endurance in the other. Responsibility therefore cannot be fulfilled from exhaustion, indiscipline, or neglect.

 

10. Pariśrama (Work Ethic)

Sustained social life requires productive effort. Without work, independence collapses into dependence, and responsibility becomes rhetoric. Pariśrama names sustained, honest effort — the engaged use of mind and body in meaningful labour.

Artha recognises material stability as a legitimate aim of life. Kauṭilya treats economic production, trade, and labour as foundational to political order; without economic strength, neither welfare nor security can endure. Sikh teaching expresses the same imperative in kīrat karo — earn by honest labour. One must contribute, not merely consume. Sustained labour structures time, channels desire, and converts energy into constructive output.

Pariśrama therefore rejects both parasitism and restless accumulation. Wealth must be earned, managed, and directed toward stability. What constitutes honest contribution, however, becomes a harder question when machines displace human effort across entire domains of production and judgement.

 

Conclusion

Bhāratīya Ādhunika Samanvaya Darśana is a framework for knowing, acting, and living. Pramāṇa and tattva establish the epistemological and ontological foundations. Vinaya and saṃbandha translate these into personal conduct and social relations. Samatā and kalyāṇa extend them into equity and collective welfare. Nigraha, śauca, vyāyāma, and pariśrama ground the entire structure in the disciplines of daily life. Derived from Kauṭilyan realism and integrating Sāṃkhya, Yoga, and Lokāyata, the framework places the Indian philosophical tradition in sustained conversation with modern thought. It is a layered account of knowledge, reality, social order, and self-discipline, provisional in formulation, open to revision, and offered as a beginning.

 

References

Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics VIII–IX (forms of attachment)

Bhagavad Gītā 4.8 (paritrāṇāya sādhūnām vināśāya ca duṣkṛtām); 6.16–17 (moderation); 18.54 (sama-darśinaḥ)

Immanuel Kant, Critique of Pure Reason (1781)

Īśvarakṛṣṇa, Sāṃkhyakārikā 4 (pratyakṣa, anumāna, śabda as the three pramāṇas); 5–7 (limits of perception); 10–11 (prakṛti and tattvas)

Jeremy Bentham, An Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation (1789)

John Rawls, A Theory of Justice (1971)

Karl Popper, The Logic of Scientific Discovery (1934); Conjectures and Refutations (1963)

Kauṭilya, Arthaśāstra 1.2 (anvīkṣikī comprising Sāṃkhya, Yoga, and Lokāyata); 1.4 (daṇḍa; mātsyanyāya; calibration of punishment); 1.19.34 (prajā sukhe sukhaṁ rājñaḥ); 2 (economic production, trade, and labour)

Madhvācārya, Pramāṇalakṣaṇa (pratyakṣa, anumāna, and āgama as the three pramāṇas); Tattva Saṃkhyāna (svatantra tattva; bheda as fundamental)

Mahābhārata, Anuśāsana Parva 115.1 (ahiṃsā paramo dharmaḥ)

Mahatma Gandhi, The Moral Basis of Vegetarianism (1959)

Nick Bostrom, “Transhumanist Values” (2004)

Patañjali, Yoga Sūtras 1.7 (pratyakṣa-anumāna-āgamāḥ pramāṇāni); 2.29–32 (yama and niyama); 2.41 (from purity arises fitness for concentration)

Peter Singer, The Expanding Circle: Ethics and Sociobiology (1981)

Ṛgveda 1.164.46 (ekaṁ sad viprā bahudhā vadanti)

Roy Bhaskar, A Realist Theory of Science (1975)

Rūpa Gosvāmī, Upadeśāmṛta 1 (vāco vegaṁ); 4 (dadāti pratigṛhṇāti)

Śrī Caitanya, Śikṣāṣṭakam 3 (tṛṇād api sunīcena taror iva sahiṣṇunā)

Thomas Kuhn, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions (1962)

Impact of Social Media on Gen Z

One-Day Faculty Development Programme on "Understanding Gen Z Learners in Digital Era" organised by the School of Arts, Humanities & Social Sciences, Chanakya University, Bengaluru on 29.11.2025 - Summary of the lecture delivered by Dr Saurav Sarmah

Every generation carries the imprint of the world into which it was born. These labels — Baby Boomers, Gen X, Millennials, Gen Z — are not arbitrary; they reflect differences in upbringing, exposure, and the basic texture of life at formative ages. In global discourse, Gen Z is usually defined as those born between 1997 and 2012. In India, boundaries blur because technology arrives unevenly across class, caste, and region. Yet one fact is obvious: Gen Z is the first generation whose consciousness developed inside a digital world. It isn’t an exaggeration to say they never knew a world without mobile phones, internet access, or social media. Even the way we pronounce the term — “Gen Zee” in American usage, “Gen Zed” in British usage — reminds us whose cultural sphere shapes our imagination today.

To appreciate Gen Z, we need to look at who came before them. A person born in 1980 is a good example. They have no living memory of Indira Gandhi as Prime Minister. Their political awareness begins somewhere between Rajiv Gandhi’s assassination and the 1990s coalition era. But more than politics, they lived through a long arc of material change: the transition from ration shops to supermarkets; from the single landline in the neighbourhood to the first Nokia mobile phone; from black-and-white television to cable television; from inland letters to emails; and from a shortage economy to the post-1991 world of LPG reforms. Each new device arrived as an event — the first refrigerator, the first home computer, the first internet connection. Their worldview is built on gradual change. They remember what came before.

By contrast, someone born in 1997 enters a very different India. They are born into a world where the mobile phone is already becoming common, internet cafés are mushrooming in every town, and early social media is starting to shape friendships. India is growing at a fast clip, the middle class is expanding, and there is a certain confidence in the idea of a rising India. Their childhood has YouTube, SMS language, and a sense of being connected to a much wider world. They also grow up in the shadow of terrorism and global insecurity: 9/11, the Parliament attack, the Mumbai attack, Iraq and Afghanistan in the background of every news channel. They inherit the fruits of the reforms that Gen X and the older Millennials pushed through — IT sector growth, the outsourcing revolution, and the optimism of the 2000s.

The demographic context is crucial. India’s population pyramid reached its most favourable shape with Gen Z. For the first time, India had a large youth population capable of driving economic growth. But demographic advantage comes with its own anxieties. There is a wide gap between the number of young people and the quality of education they receive. Skills do not match industry requirements. Work culture and discipline vary widely. Pockets of poverty remain stubborn. A demographic dividend can easily turn into a demographic burden if we fail to act. This is not a theoretical point; every country that experienced such a youth bulge went through a decisive phase of reform or stagnation.

Consider the United States in the post-World War II period. The baby boomers were born into stability and prosperity, but they also produced enormous cultural churn — civil rights, feminism, anti-war movements, counterculture, spiritual experimentation. A large youthful population with economic security often becomes politically and culturally assertive. China offers another example. Its demographic peak in the 1980s coincided with the beginning of market reforms. The result was four decades of extraordinary growth and a transformation of the country’s global position. Now, as its population ages, growth is slowing, innovation is becoming harder, and labour shortages are emerging. Africa today stands at the beginning of the same demographic curve, but is weighed down by extreme poverty and governance failures. Whether it can break out of this trap remains uncertain.

This brings us to the uncomfortable question: has India missed the bus? Fertility rates are falling across the country. Economic growth may not remain at the pace required to absorb millions of young people. Job creation lags. Learning outcomes in schools remain poor. India once feared overpopulation; now, we will soon confront the opposite problem — ageing without becoming rich. Whether India can still catch up depends entirely on whether we undertake serious reforms in manufacturing, labour markets, education, and state capacity. Demographic advantage is not a guarantee of success; it is only an opportunity.

In the midst of all this stands social media — the central environment of Gen Z. Social media is not simply a tool; it is a space where people live, form communities, argue, display themselves, and create meaning. Platforms like Facebook, Instagram, WhatsApp, Twitter, Snapchat, and TikTok shape identities and relationships. Gen Z is unique because social media reached them before adulthood. Their mental world — ideas of friendship, self-esteem, success, and even morality — took shape online. COVID-19 deepened this shift, turning education, entertainment, and social life into a continuous digital stream.

This transformation has weakened older structures of authority. Parents once dictated how their children should dress or behave. Today, fashion trends come from influencers sitting thousands of miles away. Corporate advertising shapes aspirations more than family values do. Social norms used to be enforced by neighbourhoods, elders, and local culture; now they are overridden by meme culture, global entertainment, and algorithm-driven feeds. Even the state struggles to control narratives: political messages spread through reels and influencers faster than any official clarification. Sharp power — micro-targeted political persuasion, emotional mobilisation, algorithmic manipulation — sits side by side with soft power — culture, entertainment, symbolism.

Gen Z stands at a complicated crossroads. Their strengths are obvious: digital fluency, comfort with technology, global exposure, and entrepreneurial instinct. But they also face distractions, mental health pressures, and a turbulent information environment where truth and falsehood are difficult to distinguish. Their world is shaped by demographic shifts, technological revolutions, economic uncertainty, and a politics increasingly mediated by algorithms. How they navigate these forces will shape India’s future.

Understanding them is not optional; it is essential.

108+ BOOKS THAT SHAPED ME

A list of books, articles, and poems that have shaped my understanding of reality — guiding, challenging, and transforming me, and leaving a lasting mark on how I see the world.

Growing Up in Dibrugarh, Assam

1.      History of India (2 vols.) — V. D. Mahajan

2.      The Invasion That Never Was — Michel Danino

3.      The Story of My Experiments with Truth — M. K. Gandhi

4.      An Autobiography — Jawaharlal Nehru

5.      The Manual of English Grammar and Composition — J. C. Nesfield

6.      High School English Grammar and Composition —  P. C. Wren & H. Martin

7.      English Romantic Poetry — esp. William Wordsworth & John Keats

8.      The Merchant of Venice — William Shakespeare

9.      Paradise Lost — John Milton

10.  The Swiss Family Robinson — Johann David Wyss

11.  Lost Horizon — James Hilton

12.  Around the World in Eighty Days — Jules Verne

13.  The Apple Cart — George Bernard Shaw

14.  Animal Farm — George Orwell

15.  All My Sons — Arthur Miller

16.  Gone with the Wind — Margaret Mitchell

17.  Windmills of the Gods — Sidney Sheldon

18.  Freedom at Midnight —  Larry Collins & Dominique Lapierre

19.  Midnight’s Children — Salman Rushdie

20.  Delhi: A Novel — Khushwant Singh

21.  Malgudi Days and Other Stories — R. K. Narayan

22.  Idols — Sunil Gavaskar

23.  The Fast Men — David Taylor

24.  A Brief History of Time — Stephen Hawking

25.  A Critical History of Western Philosophy — Y. Masih

26.  The Problems of Philosophy — Bertrand Russell

27.  A Critical Survey of Indian Philosophy — Chandradhar Sharma

28.  Readings in Vedic Literature: The Tradition Speaks for Itself — Satsvarupa dasa Goswami

29.  The Nectar of Instruction — Rupa Goswami, trans. A. C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada

30.  Perfect Questions, Perfect Answers — A. C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada & Bob Cohen

31.  The Communist Manifesto — Karl Marx & Friedrich Engels

32.  On Liberty — John Stuart Mill

33.  A Grammar of Politics — Harold Laski

34.  Economics — Paul Samuelson

35.  Politics Among Nations — Hans Morgenthau

36.  A History of Modern Times from 1789 — C. D. M. Ketelbey

37.  The Globalization of World Politics — John Baylis and Steve Smith

38.  Kashmir — M. J. Akbar

39.  The Periphery Strikes Back — Udayon Misra

40.  Strangers of the Mist — Sanjoy Hazarika

41.  Introduction to the Constitution of India — Durga Das Basu

42.  The Charter of the United Nations and The Universal Declaration of Human Rights

 

As an ISKCON devotee in JNU, New Delhi

43.  Srila Prabhupada Lilamrta (7 vols.) — Satsvarupa dasa Goswami

44.  Caitanya-caritamrta (9 vols.) — Krishna Kavi­raj Goswami; trans. A. C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada

45.  Gaudiya Vaishnava Bhajans — esp. Narottama Dasa Thakura and Bhaktivinoda Thakura

46.  Prabhupada’s Books — A. C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada, esp. Bhagavad Gita As It Is and Srimad Bhagavatam (18 vols.)

47.  The Twenty Years’ Crisis, 1919–1939 and What is History? — E. H. Carr

48.  The End of History? — Francis Fukuyama

49.  The Clash of Civilizations? — Samuel Huntington

50.  International Relations Theory: A Critical Introduction — Cynthia Weber 

51. India’s China War — Neville Maxwell

52. The Grand Titration: Science and Society in East and West — Joseph Needham

53.  The Structure of Scientific Revolutions — Thomas Kuhn

54.  Diplomacy and On China — Henry Kissinger

55. The Rise and Fall of the Great Powers — Paul Kennedy

56.  Soft Power: The Means to Success in World Politics — Joseph Nye

57.  Why I Am an Atheist — Bhagat Singh

58.  Annihilation of Caste — B. R. Ambedkar

59.  Six Glorious Epochs of Indian History — V. D. Savarkar

60.  A History of Western Philosophy — Bertrand Russell

61.  Nineteen Eighty-Four — George Orwell

62.  Brave New World — Aldous Huxley

63.  Lord of the Flies — William Golding

64.  The Canon of Sherlock Holmes — Arthur Conan Doyle

65.  Kane and Abel Trilogy — Jeffrey Archer

66.  Suspense, Crime & Business Novels — Sidney Sheldon & Tilly Bagshawe

67.  Sri Bhaktisiddhanta Vaibhava (3 vols.) — Bhakti Vikasa Swami

68.  Jaiva Dharma and Shri Krishna Samhita — Bhaktivinoda Thakura

69.  Brhat Bhagavatamrtam (3 vols.) — Sanatana Goswami, trans. Gopiparanadhana Das

70.  Tattva Sankhyan — Madhvacharya Ananda Tirtha (commentaries by Jaya Tirtha, Raghavendra Tirtha and Sridhara Tirtha)

71.  Sarva Darshana Sangraha — Madhavacharya Vidyaranya

72.  A History of Indian Philosophy (5 vols.) — Surendranath Dasgupta

73.  Civilization: The West and the Rest — Niall Ferguson

74.  Being Different: An Indian Challenge to Western Universalism — Rajiv Malhotra

75.  Chasing the Mirage: The Tragic Illusion of an Islamic State — Tarek Fatah

76.  Christianity: The First Three Thousand Years — Diarmaid MacCulloch

77.  Breaking the Spell: Religion as a Natural Phenomenon — Daniel Dennett

78. The Logic of Scientific Discovery — Karl Popper

 

Teaching at RGNUL, Patiala and Chanakya University, Bengaluru

      79. The History of the Peloponnesian War — Thucydides

      80. Republic — Plato

      81. Metaphysics, Nicomachean Ethics and Politics — Aristotle

      82. Records of the Grand Historian — Sima Qian

      83. Confessions and The City of God — Augustine

      84. The Incoherence of the Philosophers — Al Ghazali

      85. Summa contra Gentiles and Summa Theologica — Thomas Aquinas

      86. Muqaddimah — Ibn Khaldun

87.  The Works of Vijnanabhikshu — Vijnanabhikshu, trans. Andrew Nicholson in Unifying Hinduism and Rajiv Malhotra in Indra’s Net

88.  The Prince and Discourses on the First Ten Books of Titus Livius — Machiavelli

89.  The Large Catechism — Martin Luther

90.  Institutes of the Christian Religion — John Calvin

91.  Leviathan — Thomas Hobbes

92.  Two Treatises of Government — John Locke

93.  The Spirit of Law — Baron de Montesquieu

94.  Declaration of Independence, Articles of Confederation, Federalist Papers, US Constitution, Bill of Rights and Other Amendments — Thomas Jefferson, Alexander Hamilton, James Madison, John Jay, et al.

95.  Reflections on the Revolution in France — Edmund Burke

96.  Democracy in America — Alexis de Tocqueville

97.  Marxist Literature — marxists.org, esp. Marx, Engels, Lenin, Mao and Deng

98.  Prison Notebooks — Antonio Gramsci

99.  The Open Society and Its Enemies (2 vols.) — Karl Popper

100. The Origins of Totalitarianism, The Human Condition, and Eichmann in Jerusalem: A Report on the Banality of Evil — Hannah Arendt

101. The Argumentative Indian and The Idea of Justice — Amartya Sen

102. The Cult of the Charkha — Rabindranath Tagore

103. Essentials of Hindutva — V. D. Savarkar

104. Hindu Political Thought: Liberal, Conservative and Reactionary and Speech on Conservative Interpretation of Indic Past using the Panchatantra — Ashay Naik

105. What is the Real Sanatana Dharma? — V. D. Savarkar

106. The Saffron Swastika (2 vols.), Decolonizing the Hindu Mind, Who is a Hindu?, Return of the Swastika, The Argumentative Hindu, Divinizing the Veda: The Problem of Traditionalism, and Hindu Dharma and the Culture Wars — Koenraad Elst

107. Final Version of the Chronological Gulf between the Old Rigveda and the New Rigveda — Shrikant Talageri

108. Kautiliya Arthashastra (3 vols.) — Kautilya (Chanakya), trans. R. P. Kangle