Prosperity Without Liberty: Rethinking the Capitalist Free Market Orthodoxy

The belief that privatization inherently advances freedom is not only overly simplistic—it is historically indefensible. Far from being bastions of liberty, private corporations have at times been among the worst violators of human rights. Some of history’s most exploitative systems of slavery were not the result of feudal tyrannies or authoritarian regimes but were driven by private enterprises operating under the banner of commerce and profit.

Institutions like the British East India Company, the Royal African Company, and the Dutch West India Company—respected and even celebrated in their time—trafficked in human lives while amassing vast political and economic power. These were not outliers; they were emblematic of an era where profit was pursued without ethical constraint. Their legacies serve as a sobering reminder: privatization is no guarantee of liberty. When left unregulated and unaccountable, private enterprises can be just as oppressive as despotic governments or feudal warlords. 

This historical insight invites us to question the assumptions underlying modern economic orthodoxy. Is economic success truly the product of private ownership and unregulated markets? Or is it better explained by the presence of strong institutions, effective governance, and coherent national strategies?

China presents a striking counterpoint to the conventional wisdom of free-market supremacy. Despite being a one-party authoritarian state, China has witnessed the fastest economic transformation in modern history. Its rise to the status of the world’s second-largest economy has been driven not by liberal democracy or laissez-faire capitalism, but by long-term planning, centralized control, and strategic reforms. Crucially, state-owned enterprises have played a central role in this transformation—demonstrating that public ownership, under the right conditions, can be both efficient and globally competitive. China's experience challenges the idea that prosperity depends on privatization; instead, it underscores the importance of institutional stability and visionary governance.

Even in the supposed heartland of free-market capitalism—the United States—the notion of an open and competitive market economy is more illusion than reality. American capitalism is deeply skewed in favor of large multinational corporations that often operate in lockstep with political and bureaucratic power. The lines between government and corporate America have blurred to the point of indistinction, creating a system where policy is routinely shaped by lobbyists and campaign donors rather than public interest.

While these multinational giants enjoy deregulation, tax privileges, and global reach, small and medium-sized businesses are burdened with red tape, compliance costs, and structural disadvantages. In this landscape, the promise of equal opportunity through market competition is hollow. What emerges instead is an entrenched oligarchy—where wealth translates into power, and power perpetuates privilege.

U.S.-style capitalism does not represent the triumph of freedom. It is increasingly the fountainhead of global oligarchy—producing economic dynasties that seek not only to dominate markets, but to influence politics, control narratives, and shape the rules of the game to their advantage. The idea that market forces will spontaneously align with public good is not only naive—it has been consistently disproven by history.

Khrushchev's Fire: From Stalin’s Purges to Kennedy’s Philandering, and the Fall of the Soviet Empire

Stalin once lost his pipe. A few days later, Lavrentiy Beria, the ever-diligent head of the NKVD, arrived with an update. “Did you find your pipe?” he asked. Stalin, deadpan, replied: “Yes. It was under the sofa.” Beria blinked. “Oops,” he said. “Three people have already confessed. They’ve been executed.”

Such was the bureaucracy of terror—pre-emptive, paranoid, and wholly indifferent to truth.

After Stalin’s death, and Beria’s prompt liquidation, Nikita Khrushchev emerged from the shadows—bald, voluble, and eager to cast himself as the conscience of the new Soviet era. This was the same Khrushchev whom Stalin had once publicly mocked by tapping his pipe on his head and declaring, “It is hollow.” When the Wehrmacht stood poised to overrun Stalingrad, Stalin ceremonially poured ash on Khrushchev’s head, invoking a Roman ritual used to shame defeated generals.

Yet Khrushchev would have the last word—or so he imagined. Once in power, he launched the grand campaign of de-Stalinization. Out went the cult, the statues, the steely iconography of the vozhd. In came the anecdotes, the horror stories, the grainy memoirs. On a 1958 visit to Hollywood, Khrushchev even told John Wayne that Stalin had once ordered the actor’s assassination over his anti-communism—and that Khrushchev had heroically rescinded the hit. The tale appears nowhere in his memoirs and served mainly to flatter American egos while recasting Khrushchev as the enlightened reformer.

But Khrushchev’s true alliance was not with the West’s movie stars—it was with its propaganda mills. He handed them, gift-wrapped, the caricature they had long desired: Stalin as a paranoid butcher, a geopolitical maniac juggling nuclear grenades. And while Stalin’s cruelty was both real and immense, the irony lies in the balance of terror. For all his crimes—and they were numerous and grave—Stalin presided over a world that, however brutal, never flirted so openly with nuclear annihilation.

That particular honor fell to Khrushchev himself, who in 1962 blundered into the Cuban Missile Crisis with the finesse of a sleepwalker juggling live ordnance. Opposite him stood John F. Kennedy—charming, reckless, and depending on which document you read, either a Cold War tactician or a pill-popping philanderer with mafia entanglements. Together, they brought the planet within a hair’s breadth of incineration.

The Cold War had many architects, but few episodes captured its lunacy like those thirteen days in October, when ideology, ego, and testosterone collided in the tropical humidity of Havana’s shadow. And Khrushchev’s moral indignation rang hollow when set against history’s broader ledger. Yes, Stalin built an empire through repression—but he was not unique in brutality.

The founding fathers of the United States, after all, were slaveholders—men who spoke of liberty while owning other human beings. They waged wars of extermination against indigenous peoples, laying the foundation of the so-called “land of the free” atop a continent-wide genocide. Empire is never a clean business. And those who sit tall on their moral high horses often forget the dried blood crusted on their own saddles.

What made Stalin intolerable to the West was not his cruelty—it was his defiance. Khrushchev, by contrast, sought applause. In condemning Stalin, he hoped to win legitimacy abroad. Instead, he shattered the internal scaffolding that had held the Soviet system together through war, famine, and fear. What followed wasn’t reform, but entropy.

A parade of uninspired leaders—Brezhnev, Andropov, Chernenko—offered stagnation as statecraft. And then came Gorbachev, with glasnost and perestroika in hand, determined to hammer the final nail into the Soviet coffin. Enamoured with the West and eager to remake the USSR in America’s image, he proved a willing listener to the whispers of Washington’s deep-state strategists. The reforms he enacted were incoherent, ideologically muddled, and economically disastrous. The result was not renewal, but ruin: a plummeting economy, a crumbling state, and the quiet, almost ceremonial dissolution of an empire.

And the West? It was not content with victory. The goal was never simply to dismantle the Soviet Union—it was to fragment Russia itself. A patchwork of compliant mini-states, stripped of sovereignty and saturated with Western capital, was the ultimate ambition. First came NATO’s eastward creep. Then the velvet revolutions, IMF shock therapy, and NGOs with strategic subtexts. The Cold War ended. The playbook didn’t.

Khrushchev was no Stalin—but he may have been something worse: a man who mistook applause for strategy, and sabotage for reform. The Soviet Union didn’t collapse in a day. It began to decay the moment the round-headed fool tried to look clever by setting fire to the house he once helped build.

China Chose Order Over Freedom—And Prospered. Should India Rethink Its Path?

Can freedom survive without order? Increasingly, the answer appears to be no.

Liberty without structure is fragile. It fractures under pressure, degenerates into chaos, and ultimately becomes susceptible to co-option—whether by demagogues, mobs, or malign external forces. Freedom, when unmoored from order, becomes not a birthright but a mirage—an illusion that dissolves the moment institutions falter, insurgencies erupt, or ideological fragmentation goes unchecked.

Freedom does not exist in a vacuum. It requires scaffolding: a dependable legal system, robust institutions, and a shared cultural framework that engineers stability. Only in societies where peace and predictability prevail do people begin to assert liberty as a right. Where violence dominates and governance collapses, survival supersedes sovereignty. Under such conditions, freedom is not merely endangered—it becomes irrelevant.

China’s modern trajectory exemplifies this logic. In the aftermath of the Tiananmen Square protests in 1989, the Chinese Communist Party imposed an unforgiving form of political control. Yet it was precisely this imposition of order—ruthless though it was—that laid the groundwork for China’s meteoric rise. By extinguishing internal dissent, the CCP created the conditions necessary for long-term economic planning, infrastructure development, and integration into global markets. In three decades, China transitioned from inward-looking authoritarianism to a formidable global power—not because it embraced freedom, but because it prioritized stability.

The key insight is simple: chaos is the enemy of progress. Disorder—whether driven by ethnic strife, sectarian politics, or decaying institutions—has been one of India’s most enduring challenges. Since 2014, Prime Minister Narendra Modi has brought a degree of cohesion and clarity to the governance model, restoring direction to a state long beset by drift. Yet, fault lines remain. From separatist movements to criminalized politics, several regions in India continue to struggle with chronic instability.

If India is serious about achieving the vision of Viksit Bharat by 2047, political order cannot remain a rhetorical ambition—it must be institutionalized. And this requires a blunt reckoning with the inherited architecture of governance. Many of India's institutions are colonial holdovers—designed to rule a subjugated population, not empower a sovereign citizenry. Their functioning is slow, opaque, and frequently obstructive. Unless these institutions are thoroughly reformed, they will continue to frustrate developmental ambitions rather than facilitate them.

The Modi government has shown resolve in pockets, but systemic reform remains an unfinished—and perhaps deliberately avoided—agenda. Transforming governance demands more than technocratic tweaks; it requires political courage, intellectual clarity, and the ability to question sacrosanct liberal orthodoxies. 

For instance, diversity is often celebrated as a national strength. But history offers a more sobering picture: societies with less internal fragmentation—more cohesive in religious cultural aspects—tend to move faster in achieving economic and cultural ascendancy. Homogeneity, for all its discomforts in polite discourse, has often gone hand in hand with order and effectiveness.

If India is to become a truly developed nation by 2047, it must make difficult choices. It must find ways to reduce friction—political, ethnic, administrative—and foster a more unified sense of purpose. That does not mean eliminating difference, but it does mean subordinating factionalism to national coherence. Political freedom, far from being the starting point, is the end product of a stable order and a flourishing society.

A republic is only as strong as the foundation it rests upon. India must decide whether it wants to be a nation permanently negotiating its internal contradictions—or one that builds durable order and, through it, secures lasting freedom.

Kissinger’s warning and the India-Pakistan ceasefire: When friendship with America turns costly

“It may be dangerous to be America's enemy, but to be America's friend is fatal.” ~ Attributed to Henry Kissinger by William F. Buckley Jr.

This darkly prophetic remark, reportedly made by Henry Kissinger during a phone conversation in 1968 amid the bloody churn of the Vietnam War, encapsulates the paradox at the heart of American foreign policy. 

The conversation, as recounted by Buckley, revolved around the tragic fate of two South Vietnamese presidents—Ngo Dinh Diem, overthrown and executed in a CIA-backed coup, and Nguyễn Văn Thiệu, who was later abandoned by his American patrons and left to flee his crumbling nation. Kissinger, the master tactician of realpolitik and the quintessential deep state functionary, understood the ruthless logic of empires better than most.

Contrary to the high-minded rhetoric peddled by Hollywood stars, media pundits, and Ivy League theorists, the post-World War II American foreign policy has rarely been about promoting democracy, human rights, free trade or global peace. 

These are the ornamental veneers, the palatable narratives sold to the world. Beneath them lies a colder, more enduring objective: the consolidation and perpetuation of American hegemony. Whether in Latin America, the Middle East, or Southeast Asia, Washington’s actions have consistently favoured strategic dominance over ethical consistency.

It is in this broader context that America's recent role as a peacemaker between India and Pakistan must be viewed. While Washington claims to play the benevolent intermediary, its deeper motivations are strategic. Peace talks, ceasefires, and crisis diplomacy offer the United States not just influence but leverage—particularly over two nuclear-armed neighbours with divergent trajectories.

Pakistan, economically fragile and politically unstable, remains deeply enmeshed in what is often described as the triad of the “three A’s”: America, Army, and Allah. The first provides aid and international cover; the second runs the state; the third, increasingly, offers the ideological glue in a fracturing polity. In such a context, America's leverage is overt, structural, and near-total.

India, on the other hand, presents a more complex challenge. A rising economic power and a vibrant, if often chaotic, democracy, India is not easily amenable to external pressure. But therein lies the risk. 

If New Delhi begins to rely on Washington to maintain strategic equilibrium in the subcontinent—especially in moments of acute crisis—it could slowly cede space in its foreign policy to American calculation. And when American interests inevitably diverge from Indian ones, history offers a clear warning: the United States has rarely hesitated to jettison even its closest partners in pursuit of its own geopolitical calculus.

Moreover, while the U.S. may occasionally make sacrifices to protect the interests of Western allies, its track record with non-Western nations is far more chequered—and often catastrophic. From orchestrating coups in Iran and Chile to plunging Iraq and Libya into prolonged chaos, American involvement has frequently ushered in not democracy, but disorder; not freedom, but tyranny; not development, but economic devastation. For many countries outside the Western fold, the American footprint has meant political instability wrapped in the language of liberation.

The lessons of Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan—and indeed Pakistan itself—are not ancient history. They are cautionary tales still unfolding. India must remember: alliances with superpowers can offer short-term gains, but dependency, however gradual, may prove fatal in the long run.

Alien oceans, familiar chemistry: The mysterious case of Planet K2-18b

Scientists have detected molecules in the atmosphere of a distant exoplanet that, on Earth, are strongly linked to biological activity. The planet—K2-18b, located 124 light-years away in the constellation Leo—is classified as a "Hycean" world, potentially covered by a global ocean and enveloped in a hydrogen-rich atmosphere.

It is here that traces of dimethyl sulfide (DMS) and dimethyl disulfide (DMDS) have been tentatively identified. On Earth, these compounds are produced almost exclusively by living organisms, particularly marine microbes like phytoplankton.

These findings come from the James Webb Space Telescope (JWST), which has already detected methane and carbon dioxide in K2-18b’s atmosphere. Now, the possible presence of DMS and DMDS has intensified speculation about the planet’s potential to host life.

Could we be approaching the first credible detection of alien life—or are these molecules the byproducts of unknown non-biological processes? Could what we classify as biosignatures on Earth arise differently in alien environments? And if life can emerge in the deep oceans of a planet orbiting a distant red dwarf star, how common might it be across the universe?

If confirmed, this would mark the strongest evidence yet of life beyond Earth. Given the vastness of the cosmos, it seems unlikely that Earth is unique. The Milky Way alone hosts hundreds of billions of stars, most with planetary systems. Beyond it lie countless galaxies, each with their own stars, moons, and planets—potentially trillions of worlds.

In a universe so expansive, dynamic, and ancient, the idea that life exists only here feels increasingly improbable. Perhaps life is not the exception, but the rule.

The Pfizer Papers: Unmasking the medical-industrial complex

Over the past century, human health and life expectancy have improved dramatically. The prevailing narrative—vigorously propagandized by the pharmaceutical industry—credits this progress primarily to the widespread use of medicines and vaccines. But is this claim justified? I believe it tells only a narrow, self-serving part of the story.

The real engine behind longer, healthier lives is not the pharmaceutical industry but the big transformation in living conditions. Today, people benefit from cleaner water, more nutritious food, better housing, enhanced hygiene, and more accessible education. Conflict-related deaths have declined. Public health infrastructure, law enforcement, and economic stability have improved in most parts of the world. These factors, not pills and injections, have laid the groundwork for better health outcomes on a global scale.

In fact, the over-reliance on pharmaceutical products may be doing more harm than good. Many of today’s chronic illnesses—such as heart disease, diabetes, obesity, and hypertension—can often be prevented or significantly managed through lifestyle changes rather than long-term medication. Those who maintain balanced diets, sleep well, exercise regularly, and avoid excessive medication often fare better than those who rely heavily on pharmaceutical interventions.

This argument is advanced forcefully in The Pfizer Papers: Pfizer's Crimes Against Humanity, edited by Naomi Wolf and Amy Kelly, with a foreword by Stephen K. Bannon. The book makes the convincing case that the global pharmaceutical industry, far from being a benevolent force, may be complicit in undermining public health, individual freedoms, and democratic governance.

Focusing on the COVID-19 pandemic, the authors allege a disturbing confluence of interests among Big Pharma, government regulatory bodies, mainstream media, and major social media platforms. According to the book, these actors worked in coordinated tandem—not merely to manage a public health emergency, but to shape a one-dimensional narrative, suppress dissent, and manipulate public perception. 

This alliance, the book argues, brainwashed large segments of the population into accepting extended lockdowns, masking mandates, and mass vaccination campaigns—despite growing evidence that these vaccines failed to prevent transmission and, in many cases, led to serious side effects.

This critique is particularly damning in the case of Pfizer’s COVID-19 vaccine. The authors contend that both Pfizer and the U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA) failed to conduct or disclose adequate safety testing. Despite possessing knowledge of serious adverse events, they proceeded with the vaccine rollout under the protective umbrella of the Public Readiness and Emergency Preparedness (PREP) Act—legislation that grants pharmaceutical companies immunity from liability during public health emergencies.

This immunity, originally designed to enable swift crisis response, has effectively shielded corporations from legal consequences even when their products cause harm. The result, the authors argue, is a regulatory environment where corporate profit is prioritized over public safety, and where public trust is eroded by the very institutions meant to protect it.

Moreover, the book suggests that social media companies played a pivotal role in enforcing this narrative. Posts questioning vaccine efficacy or highlighting side effects were systematically suppressed, deplatformed, or labeled as misinformation—even when they were backed by data or legitimate scientific concern. The suppression of alternative views and scientific debate, the book warns, marks a dangerous slide toward digital authoritarianism masquerading as public health advocacy.

To be clear, this is not an argument against all medicine or legitimate pharmaceutical intervention. But it is crucial to draw a line between genuine medical progress and a corporatized and bureaucratized health regime that equates public well-being with forcing people to consume certain medical products and locking down the global economy. 

At its core, The Pfizer Papers calls for a reckoning—a reexamination of the powerful nexus between corporate interests, government agencies, and information platforms. It raises questions about regulatory capture, media integrity, and the right of individuals to make informed medical decisions without coercion or censorship.

As citizens in a data-driven world, we have to fight for transparency, accountability, and independent oversight of those who shape public health policy. Real health is not manufactured in Big Pharma’s laboratories—it is achieved through clean air, honest governance, nutritious food, community resilience, and personal autonomy.

People, Power & the Politics of the Past: Between Zinn’s progressive vision and Harman’s Marxist doctrine

History, as the adage goes, is written by the victors. From imperial chronicles etched into stone to modern state-sponsored textbooks, the telling of the past has long been a prerogative of those who prevailed in the political and military arenas. The vanquished, when given voice at all, are often consigned to the footnotes of history — if not erased altogether.

Yet there exists a third, more elusive narrator in the grand chronicle of civilization: the ordinary person. The farmer whose grain fed empires, the weaver whose textiles clothed kings, the soldier who marched for causes he did not choose. Their lives shaped the world as profoundly as any monarch's edict, yet their stories remain the most underrepresented — rarely told in their own voice, often mediated through the lens of ideology.

In the last century, Marxist and leftist historians have positioned themselves as champions of the voiceless. They promised a historiography rooted in the lived experiences of the working class, the oppressed, and the colonized — a “history from below.” Yet the irony is striking: while seeking to subvert elite narratives, many of these works fall into their own hierarchy of abstraction. Revolutions are told through the speeches of Lenin, Mao, or Castro. Labor struggles are described in terms of party resolutions and strike statistics. The workers, ironically, remain nameless — symbolic placeholders in a broader ideological argument.

It is in this context that Howard Zinn’s A People’s History of the United States (1980) arrived like a thunderclap. With an opening salvo that declared, “I will try to tell the history of the United States as seen by the victims of the system,” Zinn set out not merely to revise American history, but to fundamentally reorient its vantage point. Gone were the paeans to founding fathers and frontier heroes. In their place stood the Cherokee driven from their land, the African slave resisting dehumanization, the Lowell mill girl writing poetry in defiance, the Vietnam War protester, the labor organizer, the civil rights marcher.

Zinn's narrative is not concerned with neutrality. He makes no pretensions of being above the fray. “There is no such thing as a pure fact, innocent of interpretation,” he reminds the reader. His allegiance is unapologetically with the oppressed. And yet, even as he shatters the myth of benevolent empire, Zinn occasionally erects new myths of his own — idealizing Indigenous societies or downplaying the internal contradictions of resistance movements. The risk, as some critics have noted, is that he sometimes replaces the great man theory of history with the “noble victim” theory — flattening complexity in service of moral clarity.

Nonetheless, Zinn’s achievement is profound. He reframes American history not as a march of progress, but as a contested terrain of power, violence, and defiance. His chapter titles alone — “Columbus, the Indians, and Human Progress,” “The Intimately Oppressed,” “Robber Barons and Rebels” — signal a deliberate inversion of traditional narrative frames. This was not merely a history book; it was a cultural intervention.

Following in Zinn’s footsteps, though on a far more ambitious scale, is Chris Harman’s A People’s History of the World (1999). Harman attempts the near-impossible: to tell the story of all human civilization — from hunter-gatherer tribes to the dawn of the 21st century — through the lens of class struggle. His is a world history stripped of kings and chronicles, peopled instead by those who toiled, rebelled, and resisted.

Yet here, the promise of a “history from below” encounters a paradox of its own. Harman, a prominent member of the British Socialist Workers Party and editor of Socialist Review, wears his Marxist commitments on his sleeve. His prose, while passionate and erudite, lacks the narrative vigor that made Zinn's work so widely read beyond academic and activist circles. Where Zinn painted in vivid, human strokes, Harman often delivers polemic. The result is a book that, while ideologically rigorous, sometimes reads more like a manifesto than a story.

His chapter on the fall of the Roman Empire, for example, is not a meditation on cultural decline or moral decay but a critique of overreliance on slavery and the parasitic nature of aristocratic power. When writing about feudalism, he focuses not on chivalric myth or castle intrigue, but on the surplus labor extracted from serfs. These are valid and important perspectives — yet they are delivered with such theoretical density that the reader may struggle to connect emotionally with the people whose lives the book seeks to illuminate.

Moreover, in applying the Marxist framework universally — even to prehistoric and tribal societies — Harman occasionally stretches the materialist analysis to the point of distortion. Not all historical events can be adequately explained through the binary of exploitation and revolt. Human motivations are messier: shaped by religion, kinship, love, fear, accident. Harman’s strict ideological lens sometimes leaves no room for these subtler forces.

However, Harman is aware of history's recurring cycles of rebellion and repression. He writes, “Again and again, the mass of people have shown their capacity to fight for a new and better world. But again and again they have been diverted, betrayed or crushed.” This refrain is a recognition that the historical agency of the masses, while often stifled, is never fully extinguished.

The comparison between Zinn and Harman reveals more than just differences in style or scope. It illustrates the tension inherent in writing history from below. Can such a history ever be free of ideology? Should it be? Must a people’s historian choose between emotional resonance and analytical rigor, between storytelling and structure?

Perhaps the answer lies in synthesis. Zinn's emotive storytelling can inspire, but needs anchoring in nuanced analysis. Harman’s intellectual scaffolding is fine, but cries out for the warmth of lived detail. The future of “people’s history” may well depend on the union of both: a commitment to truth without romanticism, to justice without dogma, to narrative without myth.

In an age of resurgent nationalism, culture wars, and contested memory, the question “Who gets to tell history?” has never been more urgent. The people’s history project — flawed, unfinished, and vital — remains one of the most important intellectual tasks of our time. As Zinn once wrote: “To be hopeful in bad times is not just foolishly romantic. It is based on the fact that human history is a history not only of cruelty, but also of compassion, sacrifice, courage, and kindness.”

The historian of the people must remember all of it.

Beyond Gandhi: Nirad C. Chaudhuri’s contrarian view of Indian nationalism

Is Nirad C. Chaudhuri's Autobiography of an Unknown Indian a paean to the West or a sharp critique of the East? The initial pages might lead one to the former conclusion, yet a deeper immersion exposes a far more enigmatic and compelling narrative. This is not simply the story of an individual, but a multifaceted exploration of an "unknown India"—a land struggling to articulate its identity within the complex and often corrosive embrace of colonialism.

The first impression one might glean from Chaudhuri's Autobiography of an Unknown Indian is of an Anglophile sensibility bordering on contempt for his native land. While this initial assessment is not entirely unfounded, it proves to be a superficial understanding upon more profound engagement. Chaudhuri's India, initially perceived as a stagnant morass of tradition and intellectual deficiency, emerges as the very subject of his intricate inquiry: an "unknown India" grappling to define itself in the crucible of colonial encounter.

This critique, though at times seemingly harsh, is not driven by mere negativity. Instead, it functions as a rigorous diagnostic tool, meticulously identifying the perceived ailments plaguing the Indian psyche and polity. Chaudhuri's purpose, it becomes evident, is to trace the arduous and often contradictory process through which Indians of his era wrestled with their "Indianness," a self-awareness born from the very recognition of these internal fractures. This perspective lends a compelling logic to his seemingly severe observations.

Chaudhuri's stance on India's future is neither overly optimistic nor despairingly pessimistic. He leaves the nation's destiny suspended, an "unknown" quantity whose trajectory remains uncertain. This ambiguity is not a failure of resolution but rather a logical consequence of his analysis. He posits that India's path forward is contingent on the agency of its people, unburdened by illusions of past glories or guarantees of future triumphs. His assertion that even national decline necessitates leadership is a particularly resonant and unsettling observation, highlighting his deep skepticism towards the prevailing political class, whom he perceives as mirroring the "petty mindedness" of the populace.

The structure of the autobiography, divided into four parts, builds Chaudhuri's argument. The initial exploration of his ancestral and maternal villages, culminating in the pivotal chapter "England," reveals the formative influence of a refracted, almost mythical understanding of the West. This "chiaroscuro of knowledge," with its intense highlights and profound shadows, created a lasting internal division, preventing a complete anchoring in the Indian soil. His poignant description of this bifurcated consciousness – the "plebeian world of his Indian life" versus "the world of his aristocratic English aspirations" – resonates with a profound sense of alienation.

His citation of Bankim Chandra Chatterji's satirical allegory, depicting Englishmen as tigers and Indians as discreetly hiding monkeys, and his observation of Gandhi's reliance on Western academic accolades when praising Nehru, serve as potent illustrations of the ingrained hierarchical perceptions of the time. These literary and anecdotal inclusions enrich the narrative, making his analysis more engaging and intellectually stimulating.

The second section delves into his formative years in the context of the Indian Renaissance, which Chaudhuri views as a promising but ultimately truncated movement. He lauds figures like Raja Rammohan Roy, Bankim Chandra Chatterji, and Swami Vivekananda, but crucially emphasizes their engagement with Western intellectualism as a catalyst for their effectiveness. His identification of the period between 1916 and 1918 as the onset of this cultural decay offers a specific, albeit debatable, point of historical analysis. His exploration of the complex and often contradictory Hindu attitudes towards Muslims during the rise of nationalism provides a sobering and historically significant insight, moving beyond simplistic narratives of unified resistance. The analogy of viewing Muslim peasants as akin to low-caste Hindu tenants or livestock is particularly stark and unsettling, revealing the deep-seated social hierarchies of the time.

The narrative shifts to Calcutta in the third part, offering a vivid and often visceral portrayal of the burgeoning metropolis. His description of the monsoon-ravaged city as "Venice with a vengeance" is a striking example of his literary flair, transforming a mundane observation into a memorable image. Even his account of the 1910 Hindu-Muslim riot, initially dismissed as "great fun" due to its relative lack of brutality compared to later events, subtly foreshadows the escalating communal tensions that would plague the nation. His recounting of his extensive reading, particularly in Western history (Stubbs, Green, Mommsen), underscores the intellectual framework that informs his observations. His candid admission of academic failure due to "diffuse and haphazard" reading and a lack of "will-power" adds a layer of personal vulnerability to his intellectual pursuits.

The final section reveals a man grappling with the harsh realities of life in Calcutta, a city he perceives as succumbing to "pathological megalopolitanism." His assertion that "Hindu society does not teach its youth to face life bravely" is a provocative and central tenet of his critique. While acknowledging his evident courage, it is tempting to attribute this resilience, in Chaudhuri's own estimation, to Western ideals rather than his native tradition, highlighting his enduring intellectual and emotional tether to England. His disdain for the "local English" juxtaposed with his yearning for "intimate personal contact with Englishmen" in England reveals a nuanced and somewhat paradoxical relationship with the colonizers. He critiques their mercantile spirit while simultaneously idealizing a more refined, intellectual English archetype.

Chaudhuri's perspective on the rise of Gandhian politics is particularly noteworthy for its deviation from conventional hagiography. His initial embrace of pre-Gandhi nationalism, driven by its potential to foster historical and political consciousness, gives way to disillusionment as Gandhi's influence grows. He argues that Gandhi "simplified Indian nationalism," stripping it of its intellectual and political depth and transforming it into a movement rooted in a "servus" morality – pure and lofty, yet ultimately born of subjugation and passivity. His description of the non-cooperation movement as a "monstrous abortion" is a powerful and controversial indictment of a pivotal moment in Indian history.

The concluding melancholic note, "My low spirts were apostle. There seemed to be no cure for them," underscores the profound sense of alienation that permeates the autobiography. By acknowledging in interviews that his work transcends mere personal narrative to encompass the history of a nation, Chaudhuri reaffirms the broader scope of his project, a point explicitly stated in his preface regarding the "struggle of a civilisation with hostile environment.”

Autobiography of an Unknown Indian is far more than a personal memoir. It is a rigorous, often contrarian, and deeply intellectual engagement with the complexities of pre-independence India, viewed through the intensely personal yet acutely analytical lens of Nirad C. Chaudhuri. His unflinching critique, while potentially unsettling, serves as a valuable, if contentious, contribution to the understanding of Indian identity, consciousness, and the enduring legacy of colonialism. The book remains a dynamic and thought-provoking work, demanding careful consideration of its multifaceted arguments and the enduring enigma of the "unknown India" it seeks to illuminate.

Communist heart of capitalism: How corporate power mirrors communist structures

Common discourse often presents capitalism and communism as fundamentally opposed ideologies. Capitalism is celebrated for its free markets, individual liberties, and democratic values, while communism is criticized for state control, repression, and inefficiency. However, a closer look at the workings of modern capitalism—specifically through the lens of multinational corporations—reveals striking similarities to the very communist systems it stands against.

At the core of today's capitalist economy are the multinational corporations, which wield economic clout rivaling that of many nations. These corporate giants operate under hierarchical structures that closely resemble the centralized control found in communist regimes. At the pinnacle of this hierarchy is the board of directors and top executives, a governing body that functions similarly to the politburo in a communist state.

In both systems, ultimate authority resides in an elite group. Just as the politburo maintains significant power with little accountability to the populace, corporate boards and executives exert near-absolute control over their organizations. Critical decisions regarding strategy, resource allocation, and corporate direction flow from this inner circle, leaving the majority of employees—much like average citizens in a communist society—without any meaningful input. 

Workers are primarily tasked with executing directives from above, underscoring a lack of agency that echoes the limited autonomy experienced in authoritarian regimes.

Moreover, the relentless pursuit of expansion, a hallmark of communist nations seeking global influence, is equally evident in the mission of multinational corporations. These entities strive tirelessly for growth, seeking new markets and resources across the globe, often bolstered by alliances with powerful states, particularly the United States. This urge for expansion reflects a deeper drive for control and influence, reminiscent of the ideological ambitions found in communist systems.

The notion that capitalism thrives on free markets and democratic principles is further complicated by the reality of corporate power. Instead of fostering genuine market competition, advanced stages of capitalism seem to prioritize corporate supremacy, often at the expense of local communities and environmental integrity. 

The geopolitical and military might of nations—such as the United States—frequently supports corporate interests by creating favorable conditions for expansion, ensuring that companies have access to vital resources and markets. This symbiotic relationship blurs the line between corporate capitalism and state power, suggesting that corporate interests may dominate the global landscape more than ever.

The consequences of this corporate-driven globalization are multifaceted and often contradict the ideal of shared capitalist prosperity. While corporations and their home governments may thrive, countless communities worldwide grapple with exploitation, environmental degradation, and a diminishing sense of autonomy. The freedom that corporations possess to operate globally does not necessarily equate to freedom or well-being for the local populations impacted by their actions. 

While traditional narratives frame capitalism and communism as diametrically opposed, the internal organization and global ambitions of large corporations reveal a distinct "communist" character. 

The centralized authority of corporate "politburos," the limited agency of the workforce, and the relentless drive for expansion all mirror the power structures and behaviors typically associated with communist regimes. This perspective challenges the conventional understanding of capitalism and raises critical questions about the true beneficiaries of a system increasingly dominated by powerful, internally authoritarian entities. It compels us to reevaluate the intersections of power, autonomy, and the ethical implications of corporate globalization.

The Dollar's game: Power, perception, mythology and control of global economy

The very notion of money is a constructed reality, a shared illusion we mistake for tangible truth. Its value isn't inherent; it's a meticulously crafted myth, propagated by the confluence of cultural, social, political, and industrial forces. This orchestrated belief, this collective hallucination, is the bedrock of our economic system.

This belief, this faith in the power of money, is not fundamentally different from our belief in God or a political ideology. It's a leap of faith, a collective acceptance of an intangible concept that shapes our reality. Just as religious or political doctrines require widespread acceptance to hold sway, so too does money.

The global dominance of the American dollar exemplifies this principle. It's not a testament to inherent superiority, but a demonstration of the United States' capacity to impose its narrative, to convince—or coerce—the world into accepting its currency as the universal measure of value. This power is wielded through the manipulation of shared belief, a testament to the sway of collective perception.

From this understanding, the fetishization of currency backed by gold, or any other commodity, as the sole arbiter of monetary integrity becomes a flawed premise. Money, at its core, is a tool for quantifying exchange, its effectiveness tied to stability and transparency. The gold standard, far from being a safeguard, merely relocates the locus of manipulation, shifting it from printing presses to gold reserves.

This shift reveals the true source of the dollar’s instability, which is not the removal of the gold standard, but the unchecked expansion of its supply. Each new injection of dollars into the global market acts as a silent tax, a form of economic imperialism that devalues the holdings of even the poorest nations, a direct consequence of faith in the dollar.

Therefore, the search for an incorruptible monetary system, whether anchored in gold or digital code, is a pursuit of a chimera. 

Money, ultimately, is a reflection of power, a tool shaped by belief and political reality. Given that its value derives from shared belief, and beliefs are always malleable, the question remains: can a truly neutral system ever exist, or are we forever trapped within the subjective, politically charged narratives of our economic myths?

Was Indus Valley Civilization the fountainhead of democracy? The myth of Ancient Athens

Great Bath of Mohenjo-Daro

Democracy is often credited to Ancient Athens, where formal institutions of popular governance emerged in the 5th century BCE. However, some scholars argue that democratic principles may have deeper historical roots, possibly extending to civilizations like the Indus Valley Civilization, which thrived from 3300 to 1300 BCE in present-day India and Pakistan.

Due to the undeciphered Indus script, the political structure of the  Indus Valley Civilization remains uncertain. Yet, archaeological evidence suggests a highly organized society with meticulously planned cities such as Harappa and Mohenjo-Daro. These urban centers featured sophisticated drainage systems, standardized weights and measures, and well-structured streets, but notably lacked monumental palaces or elaborate royal tombs—hallmarks of centralized monarchy.

Unlike contemporary Mesopotamian and Egyptian civilizations, dominated by powerful rulers, the  Indus Valley Civilization presents little evidence of autocratic rule. Instead, its uniform infrastructure suggests governance through councils or assemblies, where power may have been distributed among merchants, elders, and religious leaders. While definitive proof of early democracy is elusive, this decentralized structure challenges the notion that democratic ideals originated solely in Athens.

Western historiography often overlooks the limitations of Athenian democracy. Political participation was restricted to free and property-owning male citizens, excluding close to 90% of the population, including women, enslaved individuals and non-citizens. In contrast, the  Indus Valley Civilization presents no evidence of rigid patriarchal control akin to that of Ancient Athens. 

A common misconception is that veiling originated in Asia, yet historical records show that aristocratic Athenian women were expected to remain indoors and be fully covered in public. Meanwhile, ancient Persian women—contemporaries of the Greeks—could own property, engage in commerce, and participate in social life, suggesting greater gender equity in non-Greek civilizations. No depictions of veiled women have been found in  Indus Valley Civilization artifacts.

Greek philosopher Aristotle reinforced rigid gender roles, asserting women’s inferiority and justifying their exclusion from public and political life. Other ancient societies, however, exhibited more fluid gender norms and greater economic and social participation for women. Persia’s progressive stance on women’s rights diminished following its conquest by Alexander the Great in 330 BCE. With the spread of Hellenistic influence, gender roles became more rigid, and the restrictions characteristic of Greek society began to take hold in Persian territories.

These considerations invite a reevaluation of democracy’s origins. Concepts like collective decision-making, the absence of absolute rulers, and participatory governance may have emerged independently in multiple civilizations, including the  Indus Valley Civilization. Democracy, rather than being the singular invention of one culture, likely evolved across different societies, shaped by their unique historical contexts.

The trifecta of power: Greed, guilt and fear as the foundations of civilization

Civilizations are not built on morality, reason, or cultural pride but on three primal forces: greed, guilt, and fear. While we celebrate justice, patriotism, and faith as noble ideals, they often mask deeper motivations that shape human behavior and sustain power structures.

The Illusion of Morality

Morality is rarely a pure guiding force. Instead, it emerges from guilt and fear—fear of consequences and guilt for failing societal norms. People act ethically not because of an inherent sense of right and wrong, but to avoid punishment or inner turmoil. If morality is just an emotional tool for social control, can it truly claim to be an independent force?

Reason: A Tool of Justification

Reason is often praised as humanity’s defining trait, yet it frequently serves to rationalize instincts rather than challenge them. Political ideologies, economic systems, and religious doctrines claim rational foundations but are deeply rooted in greed, guilt, and fear. More often than not, reason constructs justifications for what we already desire to believe.

Culture and Patriotism: Reinforced Through Fear and Guilt

Culture and patriotism are often linked to guilt—guilt for failing ancestors and fear of repeating historical tragedies. National pride is built on narratives of past suffering, ensuring conformity through coercion rather than appreciation. Societal cohesion thrives on these anxieties, maintaining power by appealing to inherited duty and existential threats.

Faith: A Response to Fear and Desire

Belief in God stems from fear of meaninglessness and a desire for security—be it wealth, power, or an afterlife. Even atheists place faith in ideologies, science, or progress, crafting secular belief systems that serve the same existential function. Faith, in any form, offers reassurance in a chaotic world, reinforcing societal order.

Power and the Manipulation of Emotion

Greed, guilt, and fear are the ultimate instruments of control. Effective rulers understand that people respond more to these primal forces than to reason or morality. Political and religious leaders cultivate them to shape public behavior, ensuring stability while maintaining their influence.

To grasp how societies function, we must strip away comforting illusions and recognize the raw mechanics of power. Only by confronting these forces can we hope to navigate them—either as those who wield power or those who resist it.

The enigma of brain in a vat: Is the world real or a simulation?

What is the mind? Is it a function of the brain, or does it possess a deeper, intrinsic quality that transcends mere neural activity? Does the mind endure beyond the final cessation of brain function? With over 100 billion neurons collaborating in the intricate tapestry of the mature human brain, what roles do these cells play in shaping our mental experiences? 

And when we make choices, are we guided solely by intricate chemical and electrical reactions in the brain, or do we exert genuine free will?

If our decisions are nothing more than the result of biochemical reactions, then the concept of free will becomes questionable. It raises alarming possibilities: can we manipulate individuals into making specific choices simply by altering the brain’s chemical and electrical processes? Conversely, if the mind is independent of these material mechanisms, we might argue for the existence of free will—a belief that our choices stem from a source beyond mere biological determinism.

The connection between the mind and matter—between our mental experiences and the physical brain—has confounded humanity for millennia. Across civilizations, sages and philosophers have articulated theological doctrines and philosophical theses attempting to elucidate this relationship. Yet today, many of these ancient perspectives are often relegated to the realms of mythology and fiction.

Despite our advances, the fundamental questions persist: What is the true relationship between mind and matter? How do we make choices? When we utter the word "I," what do we truly mean?

In contemporary discourse, philosophers and scientists alike wrestle with conceptual puzzles such as the "brain in a vat" thought experiment. This scenario compels us to envision ourselves as disembodied brains immersed in a simulation, questioning the authenticity of our experiences. Is the universe we perceive genuine, or is it merely an elaborate construct of neural processes, akin to a digital matrix?

This conundrum is hardly a novel invention. Ancient philosophers and sages anticipated aspects of these debates, presenting the human body as a vessel—a clay container—designed to house the soul or mind. In this view, every living being embodies the duality of existence: the physical form as a "vat" and the mind as the "soul."

Fossil Fuels, Space & Science: Why Petroleum Is Just as Natural as Solar and Wi

The notion that solar and wind power are "natural," while petroleum, diesel, and gas are "unnatural," is a narrative developed and propagated by Western intellectuals, politicians, geopolitical strategists, universities and media houses. 

This distinction is not rooted in science but in ideology—often serving as a tool to hinder the energy independence and economic growth of developing nations by limiting their access to affordable and reliable fuel sources.

Everything in the universe is natural. Humans are a product of nature, and so is everything we create—cars, buildings, AI, and even petrol and diesel. The distinction between "natural" and "unnatural" is an ideological construct, not a scientific reality.

Petroleum is composed of hydrocarbons formed through planetary processes we do not fully understand. The claim that it originates solely from ancient organic matter is flawed—if true, how do we explain the presence of hydrocarbons in space? 

Scientists have detected them on distant planets and moons, where no dinosaurs or prehistoric forests ever existed. This suggests that hydrocarbons are not remnants of past life but a fundamental part of planetary chemistry.

The real question, then, is not whether hydrocarbons are "natural" but why we insist on labeling some energy sources as "pure" while vilifying others. Understanding hydrocarbons beyond ideological biases could lead to more balanced energy policies and innovation.

The geopolitical consequences of declining birth rates: A warning for the future

Instead of looking to nations with shrinking populations as models of success, India’s policymakers should study those that maintain high birth rates while balancing economic growth and social stability. A thriving nation fosters family-friendly policies, invests in its youth, and recognizes that demographic health is as crucial as economic strength.

History shows that the future belongs to societies that prioritize strong families and high birth rates. In any civilizational conflict, technological and economic superiority may offer short-term gains, but in the long run, the society with the higher birth rate prevails. Without a new generation to carry the torch, even the greatest civilizations fade into history.

A birth rate below the replacement level of 2.1 children per woman signals slow but inevitable decline. A shrinking workforce leads to labor shortages, stagnating innovation, and slowing economic growth. While automation and productivity gains may temporarily mask the impact, the long-term effects are unavoidable: fewer taxpayers, strained pension systems, and overburdened healthcare services.

Imagine a nation where the elderly outnumber the young, with too few workers to sustain the economy. Who will power industries, drive innovation, govern the country, or defend its borders. As populations decline, geopolitical influence wanes. A country unable to sustain its population risks losing global standing, military strength, and economic clout.

Many nations turn to immigration to replenish their workforce, but this comes with challenges—cultural integration, social cohesion, and political friction. Strong national identities and welfare states often struggle to balance the need for workers with the complexities of assimilation. More importantly, relying on immigration is a temporary fix that ignores the root problem: the decline of native-born populations.

A falling birth rate reshapes a nation’s political landscape. With fewer young voters, policies increasingly cater to an aging population, leading to economic stagnation and resistance to change. Without a course correction, the consequences of demographic decline will reshape the future in ways many fail to foresee.

Elon Musk’s dream of Mars landing by 2029: Bold vision or political theater?

Elon Musk has a habit of making audacious predictions. On Saturday, the SpaceX founder declared that Starship—the world’s most powerful rocket—would set course for Mars by the end of 2026, carrying Tesla’s humanoid robot, Optimus. Even more astonishingly, he suggested that human landings could begin “as soon as 2029.”

If this timeline holds, it would mark one of the most transformative moments in human history. The dream of becoming a multi-planetary species would no longer belong to the realm of science fiction but to the tangible future. But the real question is: does Musk truly believe in these projections, or is this just another instance of him thinking out loud—leveraging grand promises to energize investors, engineers, and policymakers?

Musk is more than just a visionary; he is a shrewd businessman and an increasingly influential political player. His bold proclamations serve multiple purposes. On one hand, they spark excitement, mobilizing resources and talent to push SpaceX’s ambitions forward. On the other, they strategically reinforce his economic and political influence—keeping SpaceX at the center of government contracts, shaping space policy, and cementing his status as a figurehead of technological progress.

History offers ample reason for skepticism. Musk has made bold promises before—about self-driving cars, hyperloops, and Mars colonization—many of which have yet to materialize on schedule, if at all. Space exploration remains one of the most complex and unforgiving endeavors imaginable. While SpaceX has undeniably revolutionized the industry, the reality of human landings on Mars by 2029 remains deeply uncertain.

I don’t believe Musk’s 2029 Mars landing is a genuine target. Rather, it is a calculated narrative—one designed to appeal to an audience that craves American exceptionalism and the projection of global technological and military dominance. Whether Musk’s prediction is an earnest aspiration or a strategic exaggeration, one thing is certain: We will know the truth in 2029, which is just four years away.

Reforms by Sorcerer’s Apprentice: Gorbachev, Deng, Trump and the Risks of Transforming a Nation

In his 2021 book Collapse: The Fall of the Soviet Union, historian Vladislav M. Zubok argues that Mikhail Gorbachev’s well-intentioned but misguided reforms were the primary cause of the Soviet Union’s dissolution. 



Rather than stabilizing the economy, strengthening political structures, and improving living conditions, Gorbachev’s twin policies of Perestroika (economic restructuring) and Glasnost (political openness) acted like the fabled Sorcerer’s Apprentice—unleashing forces he could not control.

Instead of fostering a more resilient Soviet state, these reforms ignited long-suppressed nationalist and ethnic grievances, while also raising expectations for democracy. The unintended consequences of Gorbachev’s reforms accelerated the unraveling of the Soviet system, culminating in its collapse in 1991.

Contrast this with China, where Deng Xiaoping faced a similar challenge in 1989. The Tiananmen Square protests, driven by demands for political freedoms and ethnic autonomy, presented a direct threat to the Communist Party’s control. But unlike Gorbachev, Deng took decisive and brutal action—deploying tanks and troops to crush the uprising. This show of force ensured the survival of China’s one-party system and its continued economic rise. 

China’s rise as a global superpower was not merely the result of economic reforms but also of ruthless political control. Had Deng Xiaoping not ordered the military to suppress the Tiananmen Square protests in 1989, China could have faced prolonged political unrest, potential regime instability, or even fragmentation—similar to what befell the Soviet Union.

By crushing the pro-democracy movement, Deng ensured the Communist Party’s unchallenged authority, creating the political stability necessary for China’s rapid economic growth. This brutal decision was arguably the linchpin that preserved the centralized power structure essential for China’s transformation into the world’s second-largest economy.

The lesson is clear: Reforming a nation is a perilous undertaking. Like the Sorcerer’s Apprentice, leaders who attempt transformation without fully grasping the consequences risk unleashing forces that may ultimately destroy the very state they seek to strengthen.

Now, as Donald Trump once again attempts to reshape the United States with sweeping proposals on immigration, government institutions, and the economy, one must ask: what happens if his reforms destabilize American society? If social and political forces spiral out of control, will Trump—if given the opportunity—have the will to act decisively, as Deng Xiaoping did? Or will he, like Gorbachev, preside over a nation fracturing beyond repair?

I believe Trump is more likely to follow Gorbachev’s path, overseeing a rapid decline in America's military and economic dominance rather than strengthening it.

Holi: A festival of water, colors and nature

Happy Holi!

Holi, the festival of water, colors and joy, is deeply intertwined with the natural spirit of Hinduism. Unlike many faiths rooted in deserts or dry landscapes, Hinduism emerged in the lush, fertile lands of the Indian subcontinent, where monsoons breathe life into the earth and sacred rivers flow. The celebration of Holi, marked by water and vibrant hues, is a reflection of this ecological connection.

Water holds a sacred place in Hindu tradition, and no story captures this reverence better than the legendary descent of the River Ganga. According to ancient texts, Sage Bhagiratha’s penance moved the heavens, and with the aid of Lord Shiva, the mighty Ganga flowed from celestial realms to earth. This tale is not just mythology—it symbolizes the life-giving power of rivers, the sanctity of nature, and the harmonious relationship between Hinduism and the environment.

The roots of this reverence stretch back to the Rig Veda, the oldest Hindu scripture, where the Ganga is first mentioned. The very genesis of Vedic Hinduism coincides with the river’s earthly flow, signifying the spiritual and ecological bond between the religion and its surroundings. Holi, celebrated with splashes of water and an explosion of colors, is a tribute to this natural heritage—a reminder of the blessings of monsoons, rivers, the fertile land and the vibrant colors of the natural world.

In a world where environmental concerns are growing, Holi stands as a testament to Hinduism’s deep respect for a natural and spiritual way of life. It is not just a festival of joy, but a vibrant acknowledgment of the elements that sustain life—water, earth, air and the eternal rhythm of seasons.

The Illusion of Choice: Trump, Ukraine, and the Limits of Western Power

At a recent press conference, Donald Trump said: "I think Ukraine wants to make a deal because they have no choice. I think Russia wants to make a deal because, in some way—one that only I know—they have no choice either.”

This is classic Trump—framing himself as the ultimate dealmaker, the only one with real power and full information, while the leaders of all non-Western countries are in the dark and left with no options. He wants his conservative base in America to believe that all nations will bend to his will, but the reality is far different.

America is no longer the all-powerful empire it once was. Economic strain, political divisions, and shifting global dynamics have weakened its ability to dictate terms unilaterally. Even key Western allies like Britain, France, and Germany are struggling with the economic and political will to sustain a prolonged war in Ukraine. Whether they admit it or not, they, too, have little choice but to seek an endgame.

Meanwhile, Russia isn’t just holding the line—it’s advancing. Reports suggest a major offensive in Ukraine’s Kursk region, with heavy losses on the Ukrainian side. If the conflict drags on, Moscow could push even deeper into Ukrainian territory, raising an unsettling question: how far will this go?

History has seen Russian troops enter Berlin three times. The first was in 1760 during the Seven Years’ War, when they briefly occupied the city. The second came in 1813, after Napoleon’s disastrous invasion of Russia, when Russian forces helped drive the French out of Germany. And, of course, the third time was in 1945, when the Red Army stormed Berlin, ending Hitler’s reign and dividing Europe for the next 45 years.

Will history repeat itself? If the war in Ukraine escalates further, the idea of Russian forces moving deeper into Central Europe no longer seems like pure fiction. The real question isn’t just whether Ukraine or Russia has a choice—but whether the West itself does.

Democracy’s War Machine: How Elected Leaders Keep the World in Conflict

The belief that democracies are inherently peaceful is a widespread but misleading notion. History suggests that democratic states have often been more prone to war, internal instability, and systemic violence than non-democratic regimes. 

In fact, democracies have been responsible for significant instances of slavery, genocide, and imperial conquests. Western historians frequently celebrate Ancient Athens as the birthplace of democracy, highlighting its contributions to governance and philosophy. However, this narrative often omits the darker aspects of Athenian society. 

Athens was a major instigator of wars in Ancient Greece, engaging in expansionist conflicts and brutal subjugation of its rivals. The city-state's military dominance was defined by hoplite warfare, where heavily armored infantry fought in tightly disciplined formations, resulting in brutal and large-scale bloodshed. Slavery was not only present in Athens but was more deeply entrenched there than in its chief adversary, Sparta. Paradoxically, the Persian Empire, often depicted as the antagonist of Greek democracy, had a lower percentage of enslaved people and afforded women greater social freedoms than either Athens or Sparta.

In the modern era, the two most catastrophic conflicts in human history—World War I and World War II—were primarily driven by democratic Western nations. 

While they are commonly referred to as "World Wars," they were, in essence, conflicts centered around Western powers vying for dominance. Following World War II, the global balance of power shifted toward the United States and the Soviet Union. The U.S., a self-proclaimed champion of democracy, has been consistently engaged in military interventions and conflicts worldwide. By contrast, the Soviet Union—despite being labeled an authoritarian state—was involved in comparatively fewer wars.

Even today, the United States plays a central role in global conflicts. In Ukraine, American strategic interests have led to policies that exacerbate the ongoing war, using Ukraine as a geopolitical tool to counter Russian influence in the Black Sea region—often at great human cost to the Ukrainian people.

A fundamental issue with democratic systems is the tendency for populist leaders to rise by promising military glory, economic spoils, and national prestige. In the United States, presidents often seek war as a means to secure their legacy and rally domestic support. The cycle of conflict perpetuates itself, driven by electoral incentives and the demands of an interventionist foreign policy. The United States appears to be on a relentless quest for everlasting military and economic supremacy over the world.

Ultimately, the idea that democracy equates to peace does not withstand historical scrutiny. A more balanced understanding of history reveals that democratic states, far from being pacifist, have frequently been among the most militaristic and aggressive actors on the world stage.

The Ukraine War: How U.S. Policies Set the Stage for Conflict

The U.S. political establishment insists that Russia’s 2022 invasion of Ukraine was “unprovoked.” But this narrative ignores the deeper origins of the conflict—rooted in decades of Western expansionism.

One key trigger was NATO’s push to incorporate Ukraine and Georgia, tightening a military noose around Russia in the Black Sea region—an existential red line for Moscow.

Another was the U.S.- and U.K.-backed coup on February 22, 2014, which ousted Ukraine’s democratically elected, pro-Russia president, Viktor Yanukovych. His removal ignited war in Donbas and led to Russia’s annexation of Crimea.

Donald Trump pins the blame on President Zelensky, but Zelensky himself is a creation of U.S. and British intelligence interests—widely seen as a Western puppet.

Had Washington not pursued NATO expansion or orchestrated regime change in Ukraine, the devastating war may never have happened.

In this brief but powerful video, Jeffrey Sachs unravels the dark and twisted history of U.S. involvement in Ukraine with striking clarity.

Oval Office Spectacle of Immaturity: The Decline and Fall of American Leadership

American conservatives, self-proclaimed patriots, are celebrating the heated Oval Office confrontation between Donald Trump, J.D. Vance, and Volodymyr Zelensky.

They see it as a display of American strength. But after watching the full exchange, I see something different—Trump and Vance came across as bullies, while Zelensky appeared desperate and overwhelmed. The entire spectacle was a glaring example of the immaturity now defining U.S. leadership.

If Trump wanted to pressure Zelensky, a far more effective approach would have been to deny him an audience altogether. Letting lower-level officials handle negotiations would have placed America in a stronger position.

Instead, the President of the world’s most powerful nation, the only so-called superpower, demeaned himself and his office by engaging in a public shouting match with the leader of a war-ravaged, oligarch-infested and debt-ridden country.

Diplomatic and military strategy discussions should never be conducted in front of TV cameras. A private negotiation, followed by a carefully managed press statement, would have been the responsible approach. Instead, Trump—ever the narcissist—chose to turn it into a spectacle, prioritizing attention over diplomacy.

I have previously argued that Trump is to America what Gorbachev was to the Soviet Union. This latest Oval Office debacle only reinforces my belief—Trump is presiding over America’s decline, much like Gorbachev oversaw the Soviet Union’s collapse.

HIV & AIDS: Truth versus lies

Everything that you have ever learned is a lie. The trick to remaining sane in a world full of falsehoods is to find the lies that are worth accepting as the truth. Does HIV cause AIDS? Most people would say yes. But it seems that this is a lie. 

I am reading Peter Duesberg’s 1996 book Inventing the AIDS Virus. In this book, Duesberg, a renowned molecular biologist, argues that HIV does not cause AIDS. 

He presents scientific evidence to show that HIV is a harmless passenger virus and that AIDS is caused by a range of lifestyle related factors, drug abuse, antiretroviral medication, chronic malnutrition, poor sanitation and hemophilia.

He contends that HIV is common in human beings and millions of people have it but they never develop AIDS. He accuses American healthcare institutions—Centers for Disease Control, National Institutes of Health and the National Science Foundation—of stifling research into the real cause of AIDS and spreading a false fear of HIV for financial and political gains. 

I learned about Duesberg’s book from Robert F. Kennedy, Jr.’s book The Real Anthony Fauci: Bill Gates, Big Pharma, and the Global War on Democracy and Public Health. Kennedy has discussed in detail Duesberg’s evidence and arguments refuting the theory that HIV is the cause of AIDS. 

“In fact, AIDS commonly occurs in people who test HIV negative. If HIV is truly the only cause of AIDS, this should not be possible,” Robert F. Kennedy, Jr. writes in his book. 

Kennedy also claims in his book that the definition of AIDS is based on non-scientific and political considerations, and that Canada and the USA follow different definitions of AIDS. Someone diagnosed with AIDS in the USA instantly becomes AIDS free the instant he moves into Canada, he says.

Gorbachev’s Perestroika and Trump’s MAGA: The fate of two superpowers

The Second World War led to the end of European colonial power and the birth of two superpowers: the Soviet Union and the USA. From 1945 to 1991, the two superpowers (de facto empires) were in intense competition and cold war to dominate the world. The fall of the Soviet Union in 1991, left the USA as the world's only superpower. 

The precipitous decline of the Soviet Union began when a reformist leader took power. In 1985, Mikhail Gorbachev became the General Secretary of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union, and he launched the policies of Perestroika and Glasnost which are often argued to be the significant cause of the dismembering of the Eastern bloc and the Soviet Union’s demise. 

Donald Trump can be seen as the Gorbachev of the USA. Like Gorbachev, Trump wants to reform the USA. He wants to reform the political culture, cut down the bureaucracy, and significantly reduce America’s military budget. He wants to Make America Great Again. But what if, instead of making America great, his policies lead to the rise of political chaos and economic woes which become the catalyst for America’s demise?

History tells us that drastically reforming a superpower (an empire) is a risky business — more often than not, the reformist policies have unexpected consequences and lead to the empire’s demise. What if the USA, under Trump, suffers a severe stock market collapse? What if America faces a significant military debacle? What if the value of the dollar plummets? What if food inflation goes out of control in America? 

Trump’s supporters might ditch him if the country faces a large-scale economic and political chaos, just as Gorbachev was ditched by his supporters in the erstwhile Soviet Union when his reformist policies of Perestroika and Glasnost led to economic chaos and the dismembering of the Eastern bloc. I won’t be surprised if at the end of the Trump presidency, the USA is much-much weaker than it is today.

Robert F. Kennedy Jr’s book: The Real Anthony Fauci

Just finished reading Robert F. Kennedy Jr’s book The Real Anthony Fauci: Bill Gates, Big Pharma, and the Global War on Democracy and Public Health. This book is an explosive exposé of Anthony Fauci, Bill Gates, the global healthcare bureaucracy and the multinational big pharmaceutical companies.  

I am convinced that allegations that Kennedy makes in his book are mostly true. Governments around the world should investigate these allegations. The American tech and pharma industries are out of control. They have grabbed too much power in all the major countries. They are no longer helping people—to maximize their own power and profits, they are subverting freedom of speech, robbing people of their freedom and destroying millions of lives.

Here are some thought proving lines from Robert F. Kennedy Jr’s book: 

“Complex scientific and moral problems are not resolved through censorship of dissenting opinions, deleting content from the Internet, or defaming scientists and authors who present information challenging to those in power. Censorship leads instead to greater distrust of both government institutions and large corporations.” 

“Pretty soon the incessant lies and propaganda will have successfully instilled in the masses that the only hope for staying alive is via injection, pill-popping, so in sum, no natural immunity.”

“The very Internet companies that snookered us all with the promise of democratizing communications made it impermissible for Americans to criticize their government or question the safety of pharmaceutical products; these companies propped up all official pronouncements while scrubbing all dissent. The same Tech/Data and Telecom robber barons, gorging themselves on the corpses of our obliterated middle class, rapidly transformed America’s once-proud democracy into a censorship and surveillance police state from which they profit at every turn.”

“Ellison, Gates, and the other members of this government/industry collaboration used the lockdown to accelerate construction of their 5G network of satellites, antennae, biometric facial recognition, and “track and trace” infrastructure that they, and their government and intelligence agency partners, can use to mine and monetize our data, further suppress dissent, to compel obedience to arbitrary dictates, and to manage the rage that comes as Americans finally wake up to the fact that this outlaw gang has stolen our democracy, our civil rights, our country, and our way of life—while we huddled in orchestrated fear from a flu-like virus.”

“Vaccines are one of the rare commercial products that multiply profits by failing. Each new booster doubles the revenues from the initial jab.”

“The vaccines are so risky that the insurance industry has refused to underwrite them, and the manufacturers refuse to produce them without blanket immunity from liability. Bill Gates, who is the principal investor in many of these new COVID vaccines, stipulated that their risk is so great that he would not provide them to people unless every government shielded him from lawsuits.”

“No one wanted Americans to know that you didn’t have to die from COVID. It’s 100 percent treatable,” says Dr. Brownstein. “We proved it. No one had to die.”

“Dr. Fauci’s business closures pulverized America’s middle class and engineered the largest upward transfer of wealth in human history. In 2020, workers lost $3.7 trillion while billionaires gained $3.9 trillion. Some 493 individuals became new billionaires, and an additional 8 million Americans dropped below the poverty line. The biggest winners were the robber barons—the very companies that were cheerleading Dr. Fauci’s lockdown and censoring his critics: Big Technology, Big Data, Big Telecom, Big Finance, Big Media behemoths (Michael Bloomberg, Rupert Murdoch, Viacom, and Disney), and Silicon Valley Internet titans like Jeff Bezos, Bill Gates, Mark Zuckerberg, Eric Schmidt, Sergey Brin, Larry Page, Larry Ellison, and Jack Dorsey. The very Internet companies that snookered us all with the promise of democratizing communications made it impermissible for Americans to criticize their government or question the safety of pharmaceutical products; these companies propped up all official pronouncements while scrubbing all dissent. The same Tech/Data and Telecom robber barons, gorging themselves on the corpses of our obliterated middle class, rapidly transformed America’s once-proud democracy into a censorship and surveillance police state from which they profit at every turn.”

“Across Western nations, shell-shocked citizens experienced all the well-worn tactics of rising totalitarianism—mass propaganda and censorship, the orchestrated promotion of terror, the manipulation of science, the suppression of debate, the vilification of dissent, and use of force to prevent protest. Conscientious objectors who resisted these unwanted, experimental, zero-liability medical interventions faced orchestrated gaslighting, marginalization, and scapegoating. American lives and livelihoods were shattered by a bewildering array of draconian diktats imposed without legislative approval or judicial review, risk assessment, or scientific citation. So-called Emergency Orders closed our businesses, schools and churches, made unprecedented intrusions into privacy, and disrupted our most treasured social and family relationships. Citizens the world over were ordered to stay in their homes.”

“Anthony Fauci seems to have not considered that his unprecedented quarantine of the healthy would kill far more people than COVID, obliterate the global economy, plunge millions into poverty and bankruptcy, and grievously wound constitutional democracy globally.”

“Therapeutic nihilism was the real killer of America’s seniors.”

On The False Dichotomy Between Socialism & Capitalism

On one side is the Western ideology of socialism which claims that all means of production are controlled by the people (which is a euphemism for the state). On the other is the Western ideology of capitalism which claims that all means of production are controlled by individuals (which is a euphemism for private corporations). 

We are told that they are opposites and that they are the only two ways of running a modern society. But this is a false dichotomy. Socialism and capitalism are two sides of the same coin. Both socialist and capitalist states fund their operations through paper money fueled by government debt which can never be paid. Both create markets. Both require cheap or slave labour. Both control the masses by alienating them from their traditional culture and creating the myth of individual freedom and progress. The capitalist markets need the government as much as the socialist markets do. 

Socialism and capitalism are not an either-or. The war between them is a mythology propagated by Western philosophers and politicians. They always exist in tandem. Neither can exist without the other, at least, in the form that we can recognize. All societies, which have adopted the Western model, have mixed economies — they have elements of both socialism and capitalism.

Trump orders America’s exit WHO, India should do the same

I am pleased to learn that President Trump has signed an executive order to begin the process of withdrawing the USA from the World Health Organization (WHO). 

“World Health ripped us off, everybody rips off the United States. It’s not going to happen anymore,” Trump said while signing the executive order. 

The WHO has ripped off not just America but many other countries, including India. 

The Indian government made a big mistake by allowing the WHO to exercise major influence on healthcare policy and systems in India. The Government of India even allowed the WHO to dictate the standards for traditional Indian systems of medicine like Ayurveda. 

We need to exit the WHO immediately. This organization cannot be trusted.

End of History & Clash of Civilizations

The Hegelian “end of history” and the neoconservative “clash of civilizations” are two sides of the same ideological and mythological coin.

Those who believe in the end of history, must also subscribe to the idea of clash of civilizations. This is because, the end of history, in the Hegelian sense, can be achieved only after one perfect civilization has vanquished and converted every other civilization. Thus, clash of civilizations is the process by which the end of history is achieved.

End of history, or the vision of a perfect society, is rooted in our mythological and utopian imagination. Clash of civilizations is rooted in the history and memory of past conflicts, rivalries and wars. The internal dialectics of a civilization works out the strategy for using the vision of the end of history to drive a clash with other civilizations.

Being scientific & being religious

You don’t have to choose between being scientific and being religious. It is natural for human beings to be both. 

Reason, which is the driver of scientific thinking, coexists with faith, the driver of mystical thinking, in the mind of all mentally healthy human beings. Since ancient or prehistoric times, science has been driven by religious leaders and institutions. The ancient rishis or sages, the preachers of religious ideas, were also great scientists. 

There is no conflict between reason (science) and faith (religion) in the human mind, we use both to develop our view of the world. In fact, it is impossible for us to tell what views we accept on faith and what views on the basis of reason.

Modern man’s intolerance of uncertainty

Intolerance of uncertainty is the major problem that modern society faces. People have been brainwashed into believing that with modern science and technology they can be certain of how they and their society will fare in the foreseeable future. They feel shocked when they are struck by random events which they could not have foreseen.   

The tools of science and technology can provide a lot of information, but more information does not necessarily translate into certainty. In fact, excess information often creates confusion and makes it difficult to analyze a situation for taking the right decision. Those who know a lot about any subject, the so-called experts, are mostly wrong. 

The idea that man can overcome uncertainty is a mythology crafted by Western philosophers. This mythology has been propagated around the world by Western system of education and mass media. Schools, universities, newspapers and the news TV channels brainwash people into believing that the world is knowable and the future is decipherable. 

The only thing that mankind can be certain of is that much of the universe is unknowable to us and there will always be uncertainty in our life. There exists a universe inside our body and mind—much of this universe is unknown to us. There exists a universe outside our body and mind—of this universe we know hardly anything.