6. It is best to have native-English folks as top management.

[VED]

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1. Compulsory formal education has eradicated high-quality traditional occupations

2. When a Small Person Gains a Bit of Prosperity, What’s the Next Step?

3. An Opportunity to Teach Computer Languages

4. The Unnatural Charm That Arises When a Wealthy Person Acts as a Pauper in a Film

5. The Land of Ignorant Fools, the English-Speaking Nation

6. Those Who Went to Taint England

7. The Frolic of Rural Revolutionary Intellectuals

8. Skills Beyond Formal Education

9. Those Who View the Indian Constitution as Mere Pastime

10. The English Saved the People from Monstrously Clever Tyrants

11. Things Flourishing Under the Shadow of the Bygone English Rule

12. Where Knowledge and Expertise Swimming Against the Tide Lead

13. A Massive Organisation That Subjugates the People

14. A linguistic culture that derives joy from others’ downfall

15. Some notions of a self-opinionated person

16. On the spread of petty overlord administrative systems in Malabar

17. People who can tear others apart with verbal expressions

18. Subcontinental realities even the English in England couldn’t comprehend

19. A public gateway to English administrative systems

20. A glimpse into the English administrative systems in Malabar

21. The issue of determining who should receive someone based on their social status

22. Short words that unsettle mental balance

23. Those Who Are the Embodiment of Negativity

24. A Strategy to Block the Radiation of Negativity

25. The First Egalitarian Administrative System in This Subcontinent

26. How to Build a Group of High-Quality Individuals?

27. The Idea That There Is No Discrimination Between the Great and the Small Before Governance, Law, and Admin Systems

28. Victorian Era Cultural Values

29. Changes in Other Aspects as the Social Environment Becomes More Brutish

30. When Those with Great Personality, Leadership Qualities, and Organisational Strength Reach Just Beyond the Fence

31. Those at the Top of the British-Indian Administrative System

32. Having Englishmen at the Top Is Best for the Vast Majority

33. When Mentally Contorted Individuals Come to the Top

34. Formal Communication in English

35. If Things Are Easily Accomplished, Servility Won’t Be Displayed!

36. Social Scenes that Stimulate the Mind and Body

37. Circuitous Routes to Establish Connections with Officials in Feudal Languages

38. Official Decisions Must Certainly Be Judicious

39. Ningal and Ingal

40. The Cruelty of Feudal Languages: A Dagger Within and a Hood Without

41. The Social Structure Regaining Strength in Regions Abandoned by English Rule

42. The Shackles Woven by Words

43. Those Trapped Under the Feet of Indians

44. How Local English Nations Are Uprooted

45. The Hypocrisy of Official History

46. Malabar Peculiarities

47. The Historical Reality of Malabar

48. The Myth of Gained Freedom

49. Direct Recruit Government Officers in British Malabar

50. Implementing an Egalitarian Language System in a Feudal Linguistic Environment

[VED]

When my first daughter, Varuna, was nearing eight years of age, she gained direct exposure to computer languages. Prior to that, her direct interactions were with external matters. Her regular familiarity with tasks such as creating websites, web forum pages, integrating payment gateways, producing digital books, photo editing, and book designing came about because I was engaged in these activities daily in connection with the VICTORIA INSTITUTIONS website, and she occasionally participated.

An observation worth mentioning here is this: if family-based or traditional occupations possess technical excellence, the compulsory formal education that destroys them is nothing short of villainy.

One of the most refined traditional skills in this land is carpentry. Related to this is architecture. However, the notion that this traditional occupation lacks prestige is a perception instilled by the formal education system and the feudal languages of this land.

In this regard, an incident occurred in the past. A woman once spoke with me concerning her sons education. Her husband, by trade, is a carpenter, but he works in the Gulf.

A carpenters son could acquire expertise in carpentry at a very young age. However, it is not necessary for him to continue in that trade later. With this in mind, I asked whether her young son (around eight years old) would have considerable skill in carpentry. The woman's reaction was as though I had insulted her to her face. With a gesture akin to spitting, she said, “Our intention is to make him a doctor.” The scene turned quite coarse.

The languages prevalent in this land foster animosity even towards ones own traditional occupation. In Malabar, a doctor is referred to as Oru (highest he / him) or Olu (highest she / her). In Malayalam, it is Adheham or Sir (highest he / him), Maadam, or Avaru .

For a carpenter and a doctor to receive the same social standing in linguistic codes, one must enter the realm of English. Alternatively, one must skilfully manoeuvre to seize respect. That, too, is a feasible matter.

In the past, during an introduction, a woman mentioned that her husband was in the police. I asked if he was a police constable. The situation became serious. I later learned that referring to a policeman as a constable is not permissible.

This matter was also mentioned on another occasion by an individual who had studied at my college. This person was then working as an inspector in a central government police department. During an official visit to a state police department office in Thiruvananthapuram, he addressed a police constable as constable. Apparently, such a reference is distasteful to policemen.

Feudal languages are replete with covert codes and attitudes that can evoke a hundredfold of fanaticism, agitation, aversion, enmity, depression, contradictions, distortions, folly, and even mental turmoil.

[VED]

Around 2002, I had a desire to teach Varuna programming languages such as C+,, C++, MySQL, and Visual Basic. This was because, at that time, there was a prevailing notion in society that computers were something only great intellectuals could approach. I had heard people being described as “computer geniuses” back then.

However, in reality, I began to realise from various sources that a computer is an entity that offers some of the easiest skills to learn, while simultaneously providing the most remarkable abilities, expertise, and craftsmanship.

What primarily informed this understanding was observing that many people, who had no knowledge of English, had acquired considerable proficiency in this field.

Yet, these individuals carried themselves with the air of being the owners and orators of a grand source of knowledge.

Around 1999, an incident occurred in Vadakara, a small town about 50 kilometres north of Kozhikode. I had gone to a DTP press to have something typed and printed. At that time, Vadakara was a cramped area with narrow streets. However, the address on the item to be typed appeared to belong to an even more remote, jungle-like place.

In this land, there is a custom of judging a person based on the name of their locality.

At that press, they couldn’t type it at the time. The head person explained matters in a tone suggesting a superior city dweller addressing a foolish villager. He said that another DTP centre nearby could type it.

When I went to that DTP centre, there was another “computer genius” present. When I explained the task, he told me to go back and confirm whether “---------- is there.” He wrote “PM4” on a piece of paper with the air of inscribing some cryptic code. I didn’t bother to inquire what this mysterious PM4 was, as I had stopped in Vadakara during a long journey.

I returned to the first DTP press with this PM4 note and handed it to the head person.

That individual studied the note with great seriousness, as if an IPS officer were reading a report on Maoist hideouts in front of police constables.

After some serious thought, he wrote on a piece of paper, “PM4 is here.”

When I returned with this note and gave it to the first person, he read it with profound gravity. He pondered. Then he responded.

Such airs are typically seen among low-level government officials. When viewed this way, it seems that this is not a natural trait of government officials but rather a tendency to make others run around. In this land, when anyone gains something beyond their inherent personality, they tend to show off. They will make anyone without a submissive attitude run around. That’s the reality.

Both establishments were ones I dealt with regularly. Moreover, this very PM4 was something both parties used daily.

Within about six months, not only did I understand what this mysterious PM4 was, but I, this writer, and even Varuna, who was around five years old at the time, had acquired the skill to use it rapidly. The cryptic name PM4 was given to Adobe PageMaker Version 4, an attempt to bewilder people. This Adobe PageMaker became a very common desktop publishing program in most DTP centres within a few months.

Surpassing this, Adobe’s own Adobe InDesign had been released.

[VED]

Although I knew that learning C+, C++, MySQL, Visual Basic, and similar languages wasn’t particularly difficult, the reality was that I, this writer, didn’t know them. Consequently, I couldn’t teach these to Varuna for several years.

However, when Varuna was nearing eight years old, a nearby computer training centre was taken over by a new individual. The main owner of this centre, a young man, came and asked if I could conduct an English class there.

In return, I asked if Varuna could join and learn in the C+ and Visual Basic classes held there. This request came with a complication: the instruction and learning environment should, as far as possible, be in English, and under no circumstances should there be any attempt to teach Varuna Malayalam. Furthermore, Varuna was eight years old, while the other students’ ages were likely between 18 and 22.

The man who came agreed to this request. In connection with this, while I taught English, Varuna participated in the C+ class in the adjacent classroom.

The C+ class was taught by the aforementioned owner of the centre himself. I recall there were about ten people in the class. A fixed fee was paid for Varuna’s lessons, and they also paid a certain amount for the English classes I conducted.

This arrangement lasted only about a month. By then, I had to go to Bombay for some business.

However, I learned that Varuna had quickly gained considerable proficiency in the C+ that was taught.

The fact that Varuna had no formal education caused profound distress in many people. In this land, many individuals are entangled in various problems and troubles. Yet, these matters posed no issue for this group. However, living without learning Malayalam or receiving formal education was perceived as an insurmountable problem, causing mental anguish to many, as I came to know. In this regard, I was informed by some that several inland intellectual and political discussions had taken place, and decisions were made to address this issue using the law and the police.

If it were within their own family, those aligned on the other side had the capability for significant official coercion, as mentioned earlier.

Back then, around 1990–2004, what I observed and heard was that many people—some of whom didn’t even know English properly—after studying C+ and similar computer languages for just two, three, four, five, or six months, had migrated to countries like America and Britain to perform these kinds of jobs at negligible wage rates.

Many who arrived there, without much delay, customised various types of software needed by millions of businesses, even creating large commercial enterprises. Some, while based there, gathered orders for such software, had their own employees in India produce it, delivered it via the internet, and reaped massive profits. This was facilitated by the Indian government artificially or naturally devaluing the Indian currency.

Some individuals, while based in India, performed these jobs for foreign companies and earned lakhs in return.

[VED]

Among those who migrated to America for jobs related to computers and the internet, a significant portion were Telugus. This was a peculiar phenomenon at the time. Generally, Telugus seen on trains and elsewhere were perceived as being of very low status back then.

However, the reality is that this applies to speakers of all other languages in India. In every feudal language, there are people of two distinct statuses: those who rank low in linguistic codes and those who rank high.

For example, in Hindi cinema, it is rare to see genuinely poor people like those portrayed as paupers. Most actors playing paupers in films seem to live at a high status in terms of linguistic codes.

Many from Andhra went to America and established major IT businesses. They brought along their family members, relatives, and even their domestic workers, drivers, and others, labelling them as “software engineers” to facilitate their entry into America.

Some wrote in Indian newspapers that this was a massive scam. However, the reality goes beyond this. In truth, the job of a software engineer does not require extensive formal education.

At the same time, it was observed that many who had earned BSc, MSc, or BTech degrees in computer science lacked the practical skills of those who had directly studied computer technologies.

For instance, when Varuna was around seven years old, a woman who had completed a BSc in computer science and secured a job as a computer science teacher at an English-medium school asked Varuna to explain a few things, such as Adobe Photoshop and Adobe Flash. This comes to mind. There is a sense that those who determine educational policies have no clear understanding of the necessity of what is being taught. They fill textbooks with miscellaneous content, teach it aimlessly, conduct exams related to it, assign marks, create rank lists, and determine educational qualifications.

Many Malayalis also migrated to America in this manner. This was around 1990. Back then, America was perceived as a thoroughly English-oriented country with an exceptionally high standard of living. It was not known to have any form of poverty at that time.

America had no wars with the countries it interacted with. The situation was similar for Britain.

In my book, March of the Evil Empires: English versus the Feudal Languages, I, this writer, had previously indicated what would happen if speakers of feudal languages flooded into these countries.

[VED]

A story was recounted by someone who heard it from a person who went to America for software work.

The employer of that person was an American woman, that is, a white individual. She invited her employees to her home for some ceremony. Among them were a few Malayalis. When they arrived at her house, the woman introduced her husband to them.

Both the wife and husband, who were young, interacted with the guests warmly and amicably.

When asked about the husband’s occupation, he said he was a carpenter (an Aashari).

The Malayalis were utterly shocked and, to some extent, flustered. The husband of a software engineer, a carpenter?

They thought in Malayalam terms. The husband is someone who has the right to address his wife as ‘Nee’ (lowest you), ‘Aval’ (lowest she), or ‘Edi’ (a derogatory address). What kind of life is this! Is a carpenter a suitable husband for an engineer?

These are people with word codes that divide individuals, institutions, events, objects, and more into two or sometimes multiple categories, discriminating between them, elevating one as gold and degrading another as inferior, now flooding into an English social environment.

It goes without saying that the nation and its people, personal relationships, and family atmospheres operating in the English language will become tainted.

Even the woman who served tea and other beverages to the software workers in that software company had more dignity than an IAS or IPS officer in India. Her work was seen merely as a job, not something degrading or socially repugnant, until feudal language speakers arrived and filled those spaces. Until then, no one there had even the slightest inkling of such notions.

During that period, those who went there would return and share all sorts of peculiar stories. One person recounted how the owner of a small establishment there cleaned the office toilet. The fact that such work is considered degrading is known to those who came from India. In India, there was a class of people, referred to as scavengers, deliberately demeaned through word codes for such tasks—this was known to Indians. It was only then that those who went there realised that America was a nation of mere fools, utterly ignorant of such distinctions.

[VED]

This is a story I heard around the 1980s. At that time, I, this writer, was studying for my degree in Thiruvananthapuram (Trivandrum).

The son of a family with whom we had close ties was working in a major industry in England. The family was notably affluent, both in terms of caste and other aspects. His mother went to England and stayed at her son’s house for a few weeks. The son had a family with a wife and children.

One morning, a young woman entered the house. She spoke English fluently and was not white.

She sat on a chair in the house. Who was she?

After a while, it became clear. She was the domestic help. This woman was Asian but was studying at some college. She came in the mornings for this job to earn extra income.

All conversations were in English.

However, the mother didn’t have a good command of English. The fact that the domestic help sat on a chair in the house was itself unbearable for her.

But the real outburst occurred when, during breakfast at the dining table, the domestic help came and sat nearby, engaging in casual conversation with the son and his wife while serving food onto her plate.

The mother exploded. It caused a huge scene. The domestic help, who didn’t understand Malayalam, couldn’t comprehend what was happening.

The mother got up and stormed off to the bedroom. The son followed her and tried to explain that this is how things are in England.

The mother lamented that after educating her son so much, the reward she got was the misfortune of having to sit and eat with the kitchen maid.

That was the story back then. Today, it is said that England has fallen into ruin. However, since this decline has been gradual, no one there seems to recognise the internal transformation in these underlying codes.

[VED]

While Varuna was learning C+, I, this writer, also learned a bit of Visual Basic from the same institution. This was facilitated by the young owner of the establishment, who taught and trained me during his available time. The benefit for him was the opportunity to slightly improve his English proficiency.

For this reason, I was able to train Varuna in Visual Basic at home on several occasions. Furthermore, both of us attempted to learn a bit of MySQL through online learning programs.

It was during this time that family members, some revolutionary intellectuals, and others began scheming behind the scenes. How could people grow up in this land without any formal education? Shouldn’t children grow up to become doctors, engineers, IAS or IPS officers, and rise by demeaning others?

Isn’t it the mother, the breast, the mother’s milk, the mother, the matriarch, the essence of motherhood, Malayalam? Growing up without heeding the mother, living without respecting motherhood—isn’t that a crime, isn’t it treason? Thus goes the revolutionary rhetoric.

What they’re saying is pure nonsense. The language now called Malayalam in Malabar was deliberately imported and spread by certain vested interests from Travancore. The language in Malabar, referred to as Malabari or, about two centuries ago, as Malayalam, has little connection with the Malayalam of today. However, I, this writer, received information or suspicion some time ago that the script of Malabar was appropriated by a German descendant, Gundert, and his associates, and given to Malayalam. I understand that there were grand conspiracies behind merging Malabar with Travancore.

The education that the English East India Company attempted to implement in British India was one that aimed to expel demonic languages—those that divide people, demean some, elevate others, and create citizens of varying statuses.

However, the education now enforced in this country under the guise of education fills people’s minds with these demonic languages.

A few years ago, two individuals from this subcontinent received the Nobel Prize. They were awarded it for encouraging the forced imposition of individuals into such demonic movements.

One irony is that one of these individuals used the loophole provided by this foolish ideological movement to escape from this subcontinent to England. Now, they are thriving from there.

It seems that some people from the village near Deverkovil deserve a share of this Nobel Prize.

The reason is that they know how to bring revolution to the land, make everyone equal, and make the land flow with milk and honey. Yet, these people, who lack even the basic understanding that people cannot be equal when addressed as ‘Inhi’, ‘Ingal’, or ‘Nee’, ‘Ningal’, ‘Sir’ in daily interactions, have a great grasp of educational matters. They also possess the revolutionary zeal to turn the land upside down.

[VED]

In a way, the intellectual environment Varuna was exposed to educationally was equivalent to, or perhaps even superior to, what is offered in India’s most expensive schools, where monthly fees can reach around two lakh rupees.

An environment exclusively in native English. Expertise in numerous English board games. Proficiency in chess. Considerable skill in playing card games like Trumps and Rummy.

She has lived in several places in India. By a very young age, she had travelled over 40,000 kilometres on two-wheelers alone.

She memorised around 150 English nursery rhymes before the age of one. She is familiar with many English fairytales. She has a good acquaintance with several works of English classical literature. By the age of four, she had watched over 450 English films.

At a very young age, she worked as an English trainer. She sings English songs well. She can deliver speeches in English quite competently.

In mathematics, by the age of nine, she had a good grasp of topics up to roughly the sixth-grade CBSE level. In science, she casually studied some topics up to the eighth-grade level.

She has good physical abilities. She knows some simple gymnastics. She swims fairly well. She can run about one and a half kilometres without much planning. At around five years old, when running one and a half kilometres alongside boys studying in the ninth grade, Varuna outran them all, finishing far ahead.

She has considerable computer proficiency. She types at a good speed. She can design books in Adobe PageMaker. She can design websites. She can perform Payment Gateway Integration.

In this regard, it’s worth mentioning that when I, this writer, attempted to sell a book online in 2004, the website was designed by someone with an MSc in Computer Science. Despite their efforts, this person couldn’t integrate a Payment Gateway and hadn’t even heard of PayPal.

Later, when I contacted a company in Bangalore, they quoted a service charge of 20,000 rupees.

After that, a female employee at a software company in Kozhikode (Calicut) completed the task in just fifteen minutes. The company charged 150 rupees for the service in 2004.

The fact that a task, which caused months of frustration like a tangled mess, was resolved in just fifteen minutes highlights the hollowness of advanced educational qualifications like MSc and BTech.

By around nine years old, Varuna began gaining familiarity with C+, Visual Basic, MySQL, and similar technologies.

The education needed moving forward is to strengthen these skills.

However, it doesn’t seem that these skills were acquired through any formal educational system. If she had studied these systematically on a daily basis, Varuna would likely have progressed much further in them. Instead, the accomplishments listed above were achieved casually, during idle moments without any prior planning.

In my opinion, as this writer, the most valuable aspects, surpassing all those mentioned above, were other qualities. First, proficiency in the English language and familiarity with unadulterated English communication codes. That is, the mental disposition to use terms like Mr., Mrs., and Miss without hesitation, anxiety, or any hint of pretentiousness.

Second, she has no knowledge of Malayalam or Malabari whatsoever.

Third, she has never watched any films or TV serials in demonic languages like Malayalam, Hindi, or Tamil.

Fourth, she has never trained under any teachers.

However, this educational approach had a significant flaw. I will address that in the next piece of writing.

[VED]

One significant flaw in this kind of Home Education is in the matter of friendships. Studying in school provides many friends. This is also possible in Home Education, provided there are people in the surrounding area whose mental outlook aligns with the intellectual level of this education. However, in such an area, there would be no need for this kind of Home Education in the first place.

We were living in Deverkovil. Back then, from around 2000 to 2005, no one in this village was known to share the kind of knowledge, intellectual ideas, or matters that Varuna had access to. It’s not entirely accurate to say such people absolutely didn’t exist.

The surrounding individuals were those who had been indoctrinated with mental attitudes that were entirely different, or even contrary, through schools.

In purely linguistic terms, the young people around were taught to divide words like You, Your, Yours, He, His, Him, She, Her, Hers into three levels, positioning themselves at the lowest and most degraded level. Moreover, they were taught—often at considerable government expense—that people are divided into superior and inferior categories.

The audacity of those in political, official, and other positions of power today to so brazenly teach young people an idea that is entirely contrary to the Indian Constitution can only be seen as a reflection of their arrogance and their belief that no one can do anything to challenge them.

However, if the response is that this is the tradition and culture of this land, one might wonder whether such tradition and culture are needed only in matters of language.

This is a land where many communities have shocking traditions, such as specific ways of dressing, the custom of women in the household fully accommodating Namboodiri visitors, and the landlord-tenant social structure.

If these traditions are not being reinstated, is there some hidden motive behind upholding only the tradition of demeaning certain people and young individuals through language as a mark of cultural glory? Or is it simply that those with limited intellectual capacity, when in power, cannot envision anything beyond this?

A surprising observation from the old landlord-tenant social structure was that those kept in the harshest forms of servitude had the deepest love, respect, and reverence for their own landlords.

For English administrators, rescuing slaves from this landlord-tenant emotional bond was immensely challenging. The slaves didn’t know how to live socially without a landlord to revere. A slave attached to a landlord had more strength and courage than one without.

If slaves without a landlord fought among themselves, how could social life proceed without a landlord to intervene with a shock or a slap to the face? English couldn’t enforce such discipline, could it? Don’t we need a language with words like ‘Nee’, ‘Eda’, ‘Edi’, ‘Enthada’, and ‘Enthadi’ for inserting discipline into such populations?

In the above text, I used the phrase “those with limited intellectual capacity.” What can be done? It must be explained before moving forward.

[VED]

The phrase “those with limited intellectual capacity” was inadvertently used in the previous writing. This is a provocative expression. During my college days, I often heard phrases like, “What does he know? Isn’t he a complete ignoramus?” used about many people in close circles.

There may be people in the world who are utterly ignorant. I don’t have the confidence to assert that such people don’t exist. However, I, this writer, don’t know anyone who is entirely devoid of knowledge.

During my student days, I often heard people say that politicians are completely ignorant. Yet, it was also said that the IAS officers working under them are highly knowledgeable.

But to speak the truth, the idea that politicians lack knowledge doesn’t seem credible. Rather, it feels like politicians are individuals with considerable knowledge, cunning intelligence, verbal dexterity, personal connections, and more.

This topic can be compared to the mental calibre of the people in this subcontinent during the period when roughly half of it was under English rule.

In some historical studies, it has been deliberately written, as needed, that the English were highly intelligent, while the kings, landlords, nobles, and others of this subcontinent were fools or worse.

However, it seems that this was not the reality.

The kings, petty rulers, nobles, village authorities, and others of this subcontinent were, in truth, monstrously clever tyrants. They could understand and foresee matters far beyond what the English could even dream of. In fact, they had the ability to see things in the heavens before the English could even conceive them in their minds.

Yet, at the end of all events, it was the English side that emerged victorious. One cannot help but note a paradox in this historical development.

How did a group with intelligence, cunning, capability, verbal skill, manpower, immense reverence, followers, slaves, traditions, aristocracy, wealth, philosophies, sacred texts, mantras, conspiracies, clamour, martial arts, warriors, and even sorcerers surrender to a group of English descendants who had nothing but feminine traits, innocence, and mere sincerity? This is a complex and contradictory truth that is difficult to comprehend.

This can be explained quite simply. The entire mental strategy of the first group was devoted to sowing discord, tripping others up, pre-emptively striking by understanding matters in advance, trapping others in deceit, cheating, betraying, overthrowing those in power, seizing authority, and the like.

Meanwhile, the English, with their seemingly foolish demeanour, used their limited knowledge, shortcomings, feminine traits, and lack of clamour to keep their word, uplift those at the bottom, create robust systems, execute matters efficiently, and more.

When the common people of this subcontinent recognised this, they understood that aligning with this group was preferable. Over time, this realisation led to the formation of a nation known as British India, encompassing roughly half of this subcontinent.

[VED]

Words like knowledge, wisdom, expertise, and information seem to carry roughly the same meaning. However, there may be contexts where these words represent distinct concepts. I’ll address that later.

A physician has knowledge of medicinal plants. A mason has expertise in construction work. A carpenter has skill in carpentry. A doctor has information about allopathic medicine. And so it goes.

People with such skills and knowledge may, by chance, have the ability to elevate their social standing. But generally speaking, they are unlikely to possess this capability.

Those with degrees like BA, MA, BSc, MSc, PhD, MBBS, BPharm, or MBA don’t seem to gain the ability to effect social change through the skills acquired in their formal education.

It doesn’t even seem that most of these individuals have a desire to bring about social change. Instead, their core objectives appear to be protecting their own interests, preventing those around them from surpassing them, and succeeding in their professional fields through competition.

From this perspective, it doesn’t seem likely that politicians in this land have any intention of fostering significant social progress. However, there’s no need to infer from this that they lack knowledge.

Most of the administrative systems in which India’s politicians operate today were sown, nurtured, and made to flourish by the English administration, as if they dusted off the ground, dug pits, planted seeds, and watered them. To plan and execute tasks like building bridges, constructing roads, establishing airports, or purchasing ships within these administrative systems doesn’t seem to require a vast repository of knowledge or expertise. Most people, if placed at the helm of such systems, could likely accomplish these tasks.

The reason is that the language has a feudal character. Any ‘Oan’ (lowest he), ‘Avan’ (lowest he), ‘Olu’ (lowest she), or ‘Aval’ (lowest she) can, in a flash, transform into ‘Saar’/ ‘Adheham’ (highest he / him), ‘Valiya Adheham’ (great he / him), ‘Maadam’ (highest she / her), ‘Medam’ (highest she / her), ‘Avaru’ (highest he/she), ‘Oru’ (highest he /him), or ‘Olu’ (highest she / her) and stand tall if they ascend to the top of these systems.

However, they are entirely incapable of bringing about significant change in social dignity.

For example, they cannot rescue the group of socially degraded individuals who stand hunched in police stations and village offices, enduring the blows of words like ‘Inhi’ (lowest you) and ‘Nee’ (lowest you). At best, these administrative systems might provide them with a smartphone.

Receiving this might give them a sense of immense mental exhilaration. It’s true that this could bring some social and personal benefits. However, to understand that there are far greater social and personal dimensions beyond this, one must first know that such a world exists on this planet.

[VED]

QUOTE: “However, it was also said that the IAS officers working under them are highly knowledgeable.” END OF QUOTE

This is the next topic. The question of whether IAS officers and bureaucrats possess vast knowledge is the subject that has inadvertently become the focus here.

I, this writer, have heard from many people that the two groups in this country with the least knowledge, ability, intellectual performance, and courteous behaviour towards the public are bureaucrats and teachers. While I don’t strongly disagree with this opinion, I have also come to another realisation.

This country also has individuals among these groups who possess the most valuable knowledge, ability, and intellectual performance, even if they are very few in number.

About 20 years ago, I had the opportunity to interact closely for a few months with an IAS officer from the 1984 batch, who was part of the Punjab cadre.

Since I had knowledge of the vast expanse of English classical literature, I was able to quickly gauge the breadth of this officer’s knowledge and expertise. I have not met another individual with such extensive reading in English literature, and consequently, such deep understanding of human rights, English social norms, and administrative conventions.

I couldn’t assess his knowledge of Hindi and Punjabi. However, it was clear, even without him stating it, that he possessed valuable insights about India.

However, such knowledge is extremely dangerous in feudal languages.

In feudal languages, each profession has a designated status, and it is desirable for individuals to possess only the knowledge and skills appropriate to that status. For example, a lorry cleaner should have only the knowledge and skills required for cleaning. The same applies to a lorry driver.

Knowledge exceeding the status of a profession is dangerous. The hierarchical bonds in feudal languages are reinforced by the fact that individuals in each link possess only the knowledge and skills necessary for that link. If someone has more knowledge and expertise, they cannot remain confined within that link.

In feudal languages, such individuals are degraded and treated as lower-caste by others.

The IAS officer mentioned above fell into this kind of danger.

Only in unadulterated English and other similarly egalitarian languages can a society accommodate individuals of any status with any amount of knowledge, ability, or expertise without issue.

While it can be said that India’s IAS and Pakistan’s CSS (Central Superior Services) originated from the ICS (Imperial Civil Service) of British India, the quality is akin to comparing ‘ve’ and ‘re’. I don’t deny that there are individuals in these government cadres in Pakistan and India with ability, intelligence, knowledge, philosophical insight, and integrity. However, the government systems, conventions, and practices have shifted from the egalitarian English model to a feudal approach that degrades the public while elevating the status and prestige of those in power.

In such an environment, profound English knowledge, egalitarian thinking, excessive information, and ability become a burden. No matter how good a person is, they are seen as a troublemaker. Either they must break free on their own, or they will be forced out.

It was in such a forced-out state that I, this writer, met the aforementioned IAS officer. Some of the things he mentioned at the time were potentially shocking.

For example, police encounter deaths. It seems this was a deliberate operational strategy for some police officers.

Relevant here is the mention of Bhagat Singh in connection with India’s freedom struggle, along with a few others. These individuals engaged in acts of violence on their own. If the people of this subcontinent had collectively demanded the end of English rule, it wouldn’t have lasted a moment longer.

It’s unclear how much public support there was for actions like throwing bombs into trains or derailing them. It seems that in cases where bomb-throwing caused harm, these individuals often escaped without falling into the hands of the public.

In the regions where English rule ended, in both Pakistan and India, not just one or two, but thousands of Bhagat Singhs emerged. Instead, in Balochistan, Kashmir, Punjab, Bihar, Bengal, Assam, Tripura, Mizoram, Telangana, and elsewhere, thousands of revolutionaries were created. It’s doubtful whether any of them could clearly create a good nation.

However, the reality is that the armed forces of Pakistan and India, when dealing with these revolutionaries, rarely showed the humanity or judicial process that the English administration did. If caught, they were finished off. Women were taken away and later reported dead in encounters.

It seems that Charu Majumdar, a Naxal leader in Bengal, was beaten to death in a police station. His body was reportedly cremated without allowing anyone to see it.

Such revolutions cannot transform this land into England. What is needed is not armed revolution but the far more revolutionary power of untainted English. The police killed Majumdar because his followers killed landlords and police officers. When words like ‘Nee’ (lowest you) and ‘Eda’ (lowest he) are used, it’s easier to beat someone to death.

Deepak, a close associate of Majumdar, was tortured brutally in a police station, leading the police to discover Majumdar’s hideout on July 16, 1972.

What must be highlighted here is that those who loudly proclaim the cruelty of English rule reveal their own far harsher true nature.

Had the IAS officer mentioned earlier not been side-lined, he would likely have been among the highest-ranking bureaucrats in this country in terms of quality. If one were to say, it was precisely because of his precarious situation that this eccentric writer had the chance to meet him.

[VED]

The notion that bureaucrats lack knowledge is also incorrect. The reality is that, like everyone else in this land, they possess various kinds of knowledge, skills, intelligence, and cunning. If they behave poorly towards the public, it is likely merely a reflection of the public’s own poor behaviour towards them.

The topic here is whether bureaucrats have the skills necessary to perform their jobs. For example, a carpenter may have various kinds of knowledge, skills, intelligence, and cunning, but if they lack expertise in carpentry, they are unfit for the job.

This is the case with bureaucrats. Even if they have great ability, personality, and good character, they may still be unfit for the work in a government office. While this is a reality, an even greater reality is that most people in this country are not suited for such roles.

The government jobs in India today, much like many feudal language-based professional sectors, are inherently tedious, mentally stifling, and designed to make others feel subjugated. However, government office work does have some differences.

During the English colonial period, these individuals were defined as “public servants,” but that is no longer the case today.

It’s worth mentioning here the context of British Malabar. In the Travancore kingdom, from ancient times, government officials were overlords. Terms like “Angunnu” (highest he), “Saar,” / “Adheham” (highest he), “Valiya Adheham” (great he), and so on were used for government officials, no matter how junior they were.

Today, someone entering a government job becomes a member of a massive, organised movement that subjugates the public. No matter how good a person they are, they can only behave and perform efficiently in accordance with the conventions of this movement.

The specific reason for this is that government offices today operate almost entirely in feudal languages. In this linguistic environment, the public, defined as subordinates, must display overt respect, subservience, discipline, and deference in their behaviour, words, and gestures.

In a feudal language environment, the most mentally gratifying, joyful, and exhilarating experience comes from the respect and deference shown by others in a subservient manner. If this is displayed in the presence of others, it provides an extraordinary sense of mental euphoria. Moreover, this information spreads through society, and those who hear of it eagerly join in this subservience.

For this reason, no matter how tedious, repetitive, or frustrating government office work may be, quitting it would, for many, be akin to suicide. In feudal languages, a person without the pedestal of respect is nothing more than a corpse.

[VED]

The social atmosphere in government offices leads the general public into a state of profound mental subservience. Several factors currently contribute to the strength of this mental environment.

The primary factor is education in feudal languages. Schools and other educational platforms where studies are conducted in feudal languages serve as the stage for training the public in these submissive customs.

Feudal languages contain codes that derive immense joy from seeing others’ plans fail and hit rock bottom. This is because if someone progresses towards success without hitting rock bottom, they grow from being merely “he” (lowest level) to “he/she” (middle level), then to “he” (highest level), “Saar (highest he / him),” and eventually “oru” (highest level she / her). No advancement could be considered more dangerous than this.

This is a matter that shatters the social foundation of one’s own family.

For this reason, people are compelled to secure their own success by serving at the feet of those working in government offices. This is because society does not function or think in English.

The primary reason government office work becomes tedious is the feudal linguistic atmosphere within. While an individual familiar only with this atmosphere might adapt to it to some extent, they can never attain the refinement of an English-speaking environment.

Moreover, it becomes problematic to constantly monitor whether the general public and subordinate employees display the expected subservience, and to ensure it is provided where required. Additionally, each time one assumes a new position, they must feign the pomp, gravity, and other airs deemed suitable for that role, which is another issue. However, such matters apply to all institutions operating in feudal languages. For this reason, working in a feudal linguistic environment is a mental burden.

At the same time, an even greater burden is sitting at home without any work. In a feudal linguistic environment, lacking a position, a circle of associates, or connections with others makes it nearly impossible to even converse with people.

Without clarity about who a person is, others may struggle to even speak about them. However, if others somehow assign a value and speak about them, and the person responds with an attitude of “I am greater than that” without providing clear evidence, others will try to make them look even more foolish. Conversely, if clear evidence is provided, others will openly apologise and show respect.

Another issue is the lifestyle in feudal languages where individuals are demeaned by being referred to as “he” or “she” (lowest level), and derogatory information is shared among people, accompanied by sour smirks, loud laughter, and the accumulation of mental pleasure. This is not a trait exclusive to government officials. However, when government employment exists as a massive movement, such behaviours transform into a vast cesspool.

Those who have experienced an English linguistic environment—free from such chaos, anxieties, and resentments—would understandably refuse to return to a feudal linguistic atmosphere. However, there is no surprise in this. Over the past thirty years, even in English-speaking nations, a pure English social atmosphere has become tainted. This is because platforms free from the presence of feudal language speakers no longer exist there.

[VED]

I don’t believe there is any benefit in the knowledge tested through PSC examinations and formal education for government jobs today.

Though this may be my own notion, there might be some truth to it.

Government employment primarily involves sitting in government offices and performing tasks needed by the public, for the most part. Only those in very high-ranking positions need to deal with policy matters.

For officials who interact with the public, knowing high-quality English is not just desirable but essential. There are multiple reasons behind this.

Firstly, feudal languages are not conducive to treating people respectfully or allowing the public to respond while maintaining their dignity and personality, nor do they facilitate discussions. If a citizen discusses matters with a government office worker without compromising their personality, it would be akin to a student in a Malayalam school discussing similar matters with a teacher. In feudal languages, such a student would be outright labelled a rogue. If a student displays knowledge without acknowledging the “I’m Saar (highest you, he, him), you are a mere student” hierarchy, it becomes unbearable for teachers in feudal languages.

This is not a flaw of the student or the teacher. Rather, the linguistic codes are scripted that way.

If government officials know high-quality English, they can communicate and discuss matters among themselves without the tug-of-war of respect and subservience. Otherwise, these issues arise even among them. A subordinate employee showing too much initiative becomes a problem that must be curbed.

Another issue arises when a citizen inquires about the crux of a matter, needing to ask for more details from a higher-ranking official. This often brings mental barriers and anxiety. When showing respect equates to publicly displaying subservience, the mind prefers to avoid creating such a stage. Additionally, discussing matters with a subordinate employee who does not display clear subservience can evoke mental aversion. In such systems, every conversation becomes a performance of respect and subservience. The efficiency of the task is hardly the goal.

The official might dismiss the inquiring citizen with some foolish response just to send them away.

Even more problematic is the immense mental discomfort an official faces when needing to request something from another government department’s office—whether by phone or in person—or to inform their staff about an issue, or to address a problem by speaking with them.

For the government office worker, there’s no real issue. What does it matter if things get done or not? However, when communication occurs in English, it becomes far more convenient to even initiate a conversation. English provides smoother pathways for communication.

It’s worth noting here that what is meant is pure English, not the English taught today, infused with Malayalam’s codes of subservience and respect.

[VED]

The concept of knowledge itself is a tangled matter. What is claimed to be knowledge needs to be defined.

From a very young age, I had serious doubts about what is called knowledge. It doesn’t seem that memorising various pieces of information recorded in books constitutes knowledge. This is because a person without such information can simply open a book containing it and grasp it.

Today, a quick Google search brings a flood of information right before your eyes.

This single fact alone reveals the folly of measuring knowledge through PSC, UPSC, and similar examinations. In the 1970s, as English administrative systems were fading away in various parts of India, I had the opportunity to directly witness remnants of their shadow. However, in places like Travancore—among the roughly 560 small and large princely states in this subcontinent—there was no English administration. Things there were entirely different. The administrative systems were merely an extensive network of petty overlords, akin to village chieftains.

By the late 1970s, these petty overlord administrative systems spread from Travancore to Malabar. This is precisely what happened across India. All administrative systems established by English rule underwent this transformation and internal shift.

Officers appointed under English administrative systems were subject to a different set of values and standards. It doesn’t seem that those who memorised bits of information could become such officers. I can assert this with confidence because, until around 1982, I personally met and knew several officers who had been selected through English administrative officer selection systems and served in government roles. At the same time, I also encountered the newly emerging “officers” shaped by princely state governance and petty overlord authority.

This second group consisted of individuals selected as officers, clerks, and peons based on memorising bits of information. These individuals would never have passed an officer examination under the old English systems. Those selected through princely state culture wouldn’t even come close to the mental and other standards of government officers in English systems.

However, comparing the efficiency of these two groups is also impossible. This is because they belong to two entirely different forms of regimentation.

It’s like comparing the grass in a forest to a rainbow in the sky. Their aims, forms, trajectories, awareness, and mindsets are in no way comparable.

[VED]

India has a society distinct from that of old England. People in India exist at various linguistic levels, such as “you” (lowest), “you” (middle), and “you” (highest). These same individuals oscillate through different levels depending on the context.

This itself introduces complexity. Those oscillating at higher levels and those trapped at lower levels perceive things with different mindsets. They respond differently in their choice of words, sense of humour, laughter, tone, and more.

People at these different levels view social frameworks, etiquettes, and English norms like maintaining order with varying interests.

Thus, the populace here has highly insular thoughts and verbal expressions. Moreover, they are capable of tearing others apart through their use of words.

To understand this, consider this example:

“Why did Saar (highest you) do this?”

“Why did Ningal (middle level you) do this?”

“Why did Nee (lowest you) eda (pejorative friendliness) do this, mate?”

The third sentence, with a slight adjustment in tone, can be turned into a way of verbally attacking someone. If a person from a lower level directs this at someone higher, it feels like a boulder crashing on their head.

It seems the English administration realised that the people of this subcontinent, and even individuals within these groups, are not equals. It’s impossible to align these groups as equals in the manner envisioned by the English language without eradicating feudal languages.

In the less than 50% of this subcontinent directly governed by the English, they first attempted to make people equal before governance and law.

However, they did not select government officers from these diverse groups through a written exam resembling a race. Instead, individuals with exceptional English language proficiency and a profound connection to English classical literature were appointed as officers in government, police, doctors, engineers, judges, and more.


English language proficiency and classical literature are, in truth, a majestic phenomenon akin to the Himalayan mountains. Those who scale its heights perceive and interact with society in a manner entirely distinct from the feudal linguistic mindset.

Even today in India, many high-standard professional and commercial companies do not hire employees through competitive races. Instead, they first determine the mental calibre required for a specific role and select individuals who match that standard.

There’s much more to say on this matter. Every workplace must appoint individuals who communicate at a clear standard. Otherwise, the person appointed will create cracks, divisions, and disruptions in that environment. This isn’t a flaw in the individual but rather a failure of the selection system.

[VED]

It would be best for India’s administrative machinery to operate according to the old English administrative system. However,

I doubt this can be found by examining the minds of today’s ruling political leaders or senior officials.

The English administrative system existed in British India. It was not implemented in the over 500 princely states just outside this territory. The reality is that those who speak generally about the British era today lack awareness of this distinction. Those who are aware seem unwilling to mention it.

The administrative systems in British India were so complex that even the English in England couldn’t fully grasp them.

A group of officers, meticulously trained in the English language and classical English literature, worked alongside clerks and peons. The officers’ salaries were modest. However, they did not speak local feudal languages among themselves, accept bribes, entertain recommendations, or take actions contrary to legal frameworks. Yet, they were not bound by rigid bureaucratic procedures. They acted directly, without irregularities, under their own responsibility.

They considered худ, they focused on the spirit of the law and proceeded accordingly. If questioned from above, they provided clear justifications in English. Superiors evaluated whether the actions were judicious, not whether the subordinate showed deference. Offering flattery to justify actions was not an official procedure.

There was no need to specifically check for dishonesty, vested interests, nepotism, or corruption in every matter, as such behaviours were simply not a concern for these officials—no one doubted their integrity.

However, how the public in British India was expected to interact with this official class was an even more astonishing matter.

[VED]

In this subcontinent, I had the opportunity in my lifetime to gain direct knowledge of the protocols of the English administrative system, which existed in just about half of the region.

What contributed most significantly to this, and served as a cornerstone, was that my mother was an officer in the Madras State Civil Service. Despite some personal estrangement with her in earlier times, this extraordinary life circumstance provided me with numerous insights. This is an undeniable fact in my life.

Although matters like the Madras State, Madras Presidency, and Malabar District are historically recent, it’s doubtful whether the new and current generations in Malabar have a clear understanding of them.

Yet, I’ve heard that many possess vast knowledge about the Vedic culture, said to have existed 5,000 to 8,000 years ago, somewhere northeast of this peninsula, along and beyond the banks of the Indus River.

When the British Crown took over from the English East India Company (around 1858), the region known as the Madras Province is depicted in the first map. It seems this same region was later referred to as the Madras Presidency, though I’m not certain. In the black-shaded areas, the region below Malabar appears to be the Travancore kingdom, and the one just above Malabar seems to be the Mysore kingdom.

When the Indian government took control of this entire region in 1947, the map of the resulting states is shown in the second map. In both maps, Malabar was part of the Madras Presidency and, later, the Madras State.

Driven by multiple grand conspiracies, Malabar was merged with Travancore to form the state of Kerala, and all administrative systems were subordinated to the Travancore government culture.

Many of Travancore’s undesirable traits spread to Malabar, while its positive aspects did not.

At the same time, the finest English government officer movement in Malabar—resembling a mighty elephant holding its standard high amidst enemies on a battlefield—was pushed into isolation. Gradually, it faded into obscurity. The towering fortress that had flourished vanished overnight, and those uprooting its foundations gathered at the grassroots.

However, until this movement completely withered and faded into oblivion, I had the opportunity to directly know, or hear about, several officers who steadfastly upheld the egalitarian-based principles, procedures, and codes of conduct preserved through the English East India Company and later direct English rule.

[VED]

Many people undertake formal and informal studies on topics like Administration and Public Administration.

It seems that these studies lack any understanding of the core structure of the government official class in British India. Instead, the official codes of conduct from the independent princely states, which existed just outside British India, were imposed on the formal systems of British India, distorting them. This distorted form is what we see today in India under the guise of government administration.

By blaming the long-gone English administration for the shortcomings and misdeeds of this distorted system, these individuals achieve self-satisfaction and shield themselves from the public’s curses.

There’s no point in merely spouting theoretical jargon without addressing the core issue.

In British India, government officers were highly proficient in English. Beyond their speaking ability, what stood out was their profound connection to classical English literature.

This itself lent an egalitarian character to the administrative systems.

The public was meant to interact directly with officers. Meeting clerks (gumastas) or peons (sipahis) was not encouraged. The reason can be clearly noted here.

Clerks and peons, proficient in Malabari (the local language), were likely to use linguistic codes to demean and speak condescendingly to economically and socially disadvantaged members of the public, and they often took pleasure in leading people in circles.

Officers would directly receive applications from the public. They would document and inform applicants when their requests would be fulfilled. The officer would note in the file which clerk was assigned to handle each application.

A peon would deliver the file to the respective clerk, or the officer might hand it over directly.

On the specified date, the clerk would return the file to the officer, either through the peon or directly. The concerned individual would collect the file on or after the specified date.

If a clerk was on leave for any reason, the officer would personally handle the file’s processing or delegate it to another clerk, ensuring completion before the specified date.

A reasonable question that may arise in the reader’s mind is: Does all this happen today?

[VED]

A doubt that can be planted in the reader’s mind is this: When someone goes to a railway station to buy a ticket, should they approach an officer?

This might seem like a foolish question, as one obviously goes to the ticket counter to buy a ticket.

However, when visiting a government office with an application, it is an officer who should receive that application. Such a procedure doesn’t even exist in English-speaking nations. So, why did the English administration implement this practice in British Malabar and other districts of the presidencies in British India? This remains a valid question.

Understanding the peculiarities of the feudal languages in this region is sufficient to resolve this doubt.

In feudal language societies, people are not on the same level according to linguistic codes.

Those at the lower levels, as per these codes, tend to have a greater inclination and ability to harm, insult, and demean those they encounter with harsher, sharper, and more cutting words.

Those at the upper levels in feudal language societies are no less culpable in this regard. However, their verbal harm, insults, and demeaning tend to be comparatively less severe. This is because, no matter how much they degrade others, they do so from a higher position. In contrast, those at the lower levels degrade others from an already degraded position.

In the British-Indian administrative system, officers were not ones to fuel feudal language dynamics.

One related point worth mentioning is this: Today, in most government offices, ordinary people are not encouraged to meet officers directly. Not only is this discouraged, but if someone insists on doing so, both the officer and the clerks often feel that such an action degrades both of them.

The current administrative system operates by having underlings at the lowest rungs of the caste hierarchy handle matters on behalf of their superiors.

At home, when someone visits, their social status is assessed. If they are deemed of low status, the household servant or errand-runner is sent to deal with them. If something needs to be given to such a person, it is handed over through the servant or errand-runner.

This practice has now spread to government offices and banks. Those of high social or official standing are offered a seat in the officer’s room, and the officer personally hands them documents. For ordinary people, clerks or peons deliver the documents.

This pattern is evident in banks as well. Depending on the person, bank accounts or passbooks are often handed over by clerks or peons. For respected individuals, these are provided by the officer or bank manager.

Much could be said about this through the lens of reality’s codes, but I won’t delve into that now.

Decades ago, in a metropolitan city in India, I recall an experience of purchasing a bike from a two-wheeler sales centre.

The mechanics completed all the work on the vehicle and conducted a test. Then, they placed the vehicle in a designated area, which was where an officer was stationed. The officer stepped out from their seat, handed me the keys to the vehicle, shook my hand, and said, “Congratulations, Mr. Dev.”

Instead, a peon could have easily handed over the keys, and the transaction would have been completed. But peons in India are not Englishmen. They carry the weight of feudal language codes and never miss an opportunity to pass on a share of that burden.

What transpired there was a faint glimpse of the fading English administrative culture of this peninsula. Yet, it was a private commercial centre.

Back then, the officers in such places were also proficient in English.

[VED]

It seems impossible to move forward without briefly glancing at the realm of the Codes of Reality, which, behind the scenes, shape emotions, emotional expressions, thoughts, and more in physical objects, living beings, and creatures.

Languages and their codes are intertwined with these Codes of Reality. Thus, the way feudal language codes influence physical reality differs from the influence of languages with flatter codes.

I don’t intend to delve into the depths of these thoughts now, but this much must be said.

The spiritual codes of an object given by a socially respected, high-status person differ from some of the spiritual codes of an object given by a socially insignificant, lowly person.

This fact is very difficult for native speakers of languages with flatter codes, like English, to comprehend.

In feudal languages, an object given by a high-status person carries a transcendent grandeur. In English, both the great and the small are merely “he.” However, in feudal languages, a person exists as “Adheham / Avar” (highest level), “Ayaal” (middle level), or “Avan” (lowest level) (in Malabari: “oru,” “muppar,” “oan”), with starkly different forms and implications.

This reality profoundly affects the objects and relationships associated with each individual.

English speakers cannot even fathom that words possess such terrifying power.

For example, consider a lorry driver speaking to a police officer, addressing them as “Saar (highest you).” The conversation proceeds very politely. Suddenly, the lorry driver replaces “Saar” with Nee (lowest level), spoken with the same politeness.

If the police officer doesn’t lose their mental stability and composure, something else must be mentally wrong with him.

[VED]

When feudal languages shape society in a particular way, they simultaneously and spontaneously create a mental disposition, attitude, and psychological disturbance. This results in the understanding that, in certain specific ways, those at the lower levels are the embodiment of negativity.

Generally speaking, it can be said that such a mental state, attitude, and knowledge is either absent or only minimally present among those who have English as their regional language.

Feudal languages facilitate such a mental state because the language codes, operating within a virtual arena created by supernatural software codes related to human beings and underlying reality, cause profound positional shifts.

I cannot delve into this topic now.

High status, elevated social standing, strong family prestige, and great respectful titles attached to a name can, to some extent, control or mitigate such negativities.

However, every individual experiences the varied influences of different factors in daily life. Constantly seeing, hearing, and experiencing only negative things generally brings about negative movements in the codes within the virtual arena created by supernatural software codes related to that individual, as well as in the codes connected to their body and mind. Yet, the reality is far more complex than this. I won’t delve into that now either.

The presence, touch, voice, writing, mental imagery, or memories of certain individuals can distinctly evoke positive experiences in others. Some of these may even contribute to positive external developments in the physical world.

The truth is that behind all this lies the operation and interaction of immensely powerful supernatural software codes.

Such phenomena are tenfold more effective in feudal language environments compared to linguistic atmospheres like English. It doesn’t seem that in English-speaking cultures, there was ever a concept in ancient times that the day should begin with an auspicious sight. However, things might be entirely different in continental Europe.

It may indeed be true that concepts like auspiciousness and inauspiciousness carry immense power in feudal languages. These may be equivalent to words that, through language codes, can turn things 180 degrees or completely overturn them.

In truth, when viewed from the perspective of a flat linguistic worldview, the feudal language environment is a kind of atmosphere filled with sorcery. Feudal languages are spaces where it becomes clear that words possess tantric power.

Feudal languages may not have created the diverse communities in this subcontinent. However, it is indeed the feudal language codes that have arranged these diverse communities into different tiers, fostering various forms of disgust, alienation, and thoughts of auspiciousness and inauspiciousness among them.

[VED]

In the year 661 of the Kollam era (1486 A.D.), during the reign of King Jayasimha Devan in the Venad kingdom (around present-day Trivandrum), a situation arose where some left-hand caste members from the lower strata found it impossible to live comfortably. Higher caste members harshly oppressed and punished them. They were not allowed to worship local deities. Moreover, they could not approach the king to voice their grievances, as it was believed that allowing lower castes near the king would transfer their negativity to him.

However, when the king visited their region, he arranged for them to directly convey their hardships and complaints.

The king rode on an elephant. The people shared their grievances with the king seated atop the elephant. There existed a societal superstition that negativity would not transfer if the king was on an elephant. Additionally, the elephant was black, and there was a widespread belief that the colour black could absorb negativity.

It seems that in many feudal language regions, there is a sensation, insight, and life-experience that those from the lower strata conduct and radiate negativity.

However, if the lower castes consciously and wholeheartedly accept their lower status in their own minds, they often do not become the embodiment of negativity. On the contrary, they elevate and uphold those they respect, becoming absolutely essential for that purpose.

The higher strata nurture those who stand ready to offer complete subservience to those they respect. This has been the clear social philosophy in this land since ancient times.

For example, until the late 1800s, Namboodiris, who were high-caste and socially prestigious, were granted various freedoms within the homes of Nairs. They were permitted short-term or long-term relationships with the women of the household. Though such male relationships with Namboodiris may seem distasteful today, in those times, they were considered a great blessing among Nairs and society at large.

It is clear that there were many tangible benefits behind this. However, the reality is that these relationships also carried many positive qualities that are hard to perceive physically today. When a relatively divine person touches, shows closeness, sees, or looks at another, specific value increments occur in certain parts of the supernatural software codes related to that individual. Beneficial positional shifts happen in the virtual arena underlying reality. These effects can manifest in physical life and reality.

At the same time, if a lower-caste woman or man merely calls a Nair woman by her name, it is experienced as intolerable degradation and insult by the Nair woman and her household. Negative value depletion and positional shifts can occur in the supernatural software codes and virtual arena mentioned earlier.

In Travancore, Nair girls in ancient times were given the title ‘Amma’ after their names. This likely helped block the negativity caused by lower castes calling them by their mere names. For men, titles like Nair, Pillai, or Nambiar were appended to their names, much like how ‘Saar’ or ‘Mash’ (respected teacher or guru) are used today.

Such practices are possible in feudal language societies. Viewed from the perspective of flat-coded linguistic environments like English, these assumptions, indications, and arguments seem utterly foolish. However, the reality is that English speakers still have no understanding of the cruelty and demonic nature of feudal languages.

[VED]

In British Malabar, part of British India, the English were the first in known history to design an egalitarian administrative system for the people.

It is inscribed in golden letters in India’s present constitution that all citizens are equal before the law. However, it need not be specially mentioned that when the constitution and administrative systems are translated into feudal languages, these golden letters transform into odious ones.

It seems that English officers in British India lacked a clear understanding of this issue. Nevertheless, it is evident that they realised something was amiss in social communication.

The problem was that, until then, administrative authority had been a hereditary profession of prominent local families. No one could control them, educate them about human values, or question them about human rights.

The ruling class treated castes defined as lower as if they were animals of varying grades. Words were often used in the way many people in this land today use them to shoo away dogs.

“Inhi poda” (you get lost, lowest you) and “Inhi podi” (you get lost, lowest she) were the ways even minor ruling households addressed the communities trapped under the Nairs.

In the Malabar Manual, generally attributed to William Logan, there is only a vague indication that the communities under the Nairs were considered a kind of degraded species.

(When I thoroughly examined this text, it appeared that only a small portion was likely written directly by William Logan, the Malabar District Collector. Most other parts seem to be writings mixed with the interests of local minor ruling families’ spokespersons.)

The goal that confronted the English colonial administrators in British India was to weave together a group of highly competent officers for the administrative system, based solely on the merit of an individual’s character, disregarding their social status, caste, or family prestige.

This was no small feat. It involved liberating individuals from a populace unwilling to show respect or courtesy to those they did not honour, freeing them from their traditional, social, and other customary practices, prejudices, and frenzies. It meant encasing them in a shield and shaping a cadre of officers equipped solely with refined English manners and words.

A few years ago, when a state minister from a revolutionary party was asked about corruption among officials in this land (in a TV channel interview), I recall the revolutionary loudmouth saying, QUOTE: “Even if Lord Indra himself came, he couldn’t stop the corruption here.” END OF QUOTE.

Was it something even Lord Indra couldn’t achieve that the English administration accomplished? Or was Lord Indra with them all along?

[VED]

The question of how to build a group of high-quality individuals is a complex issue in this subcontinent.

Firstly, the very definition of quality, as perceived in feudal languages, differs from the perspective of pristine English. Living entirely in English, as opposed to feudal languages, brings significant improvements in personal, mental, physical, social, and other aspects. What is considered better depends on the perspectives of the two languages.

Two statements by Cecil Rhodes, who established Rhodesia in South Africa, come to mind:

Ask any man what nationality he would prefer to be, and ninety-nine out of a hundred will tell you they would prefer to be Englishmen.

To be born English is to win first prize in the lottery of life.

The foolish belief that conducting some silly tests, selecting individuals, and giving them a few sermons will turn them into high-quality “officers” (or “appicers”!) seems to prevail among today’s PSC selection boards. However, if the systems, infrastructure, and procedures are in place, anyone with human intelligence can sit atop them and perform the job. This is indeed true.

Yet, such individuals will not become the splendid, high-quality officers envisioned by the English East India Company.

Even before the English East India Company established its administrative systems, there were overseers in every village and town in this region, dating back to ancient times, who could be called “officers” if one wished, under each minor landlord. This is a fact.

However, using the English term “Officer” to describe these individuals is utterly inappropriate.

In English, an Officer is a Gentleman. The titles of Officer and Gentleman are intertwined in English traditions.

While it could be said that there is no direct equivalent for “Gentleman” in Malayalam, terms like “sabhya” (civilised), “kuleenan” (nobleman), “vinayaman” (humble man), or “maanyan” (respectable man) might be used to describe it.

A person who addresses subordinates with terms like “nee” (lowest you), “inhi” (lowest you), “enthane” (what’s it, lowest you?), “enthale” (what’s it, lowest you - female?), “enthada” (what's it, lowest you?), “enthadi” (what's, lowest you? - female), and refers to those lower in age, wealth, or status as “avan” (lowest he), “aval” (lowest she), “oan” (lowest he), “olu” (lowest she), “avattakal” (lowest fellows), or “aittingal” (lowest fellows) cannot be called an “Officer,” no matter how commanding they are.

Moreover, rules demanding respect for such a person or requiring others to stand when they enter have no connection whatsoever to the English concept of an Officer.

From this perspective, it could even be said that in today’s Indian administrative system, which is increasingly reverting to a feudal language environment, there are no Officers. What exists are the overseers of old minor landlords. It was the English East India Company that drove them out.

Today, they are making a comeback.

[VED]

In feudal languages, unwritten rules exist, such as showing respect to the great, honouring them, keeping promises made to them, being punctual with them, and giving them priority.

However, the English administration did not intend to entirely reject these practices. Instead, it sought to ensure that before governance, law, and administrative systems, there would be no distinction between the great and the small.

Finding officers with this mindset in feudal language environments is impossible. Merely proclaiming that everyone is equal before governance is futile. Assuming that the disparities in people’s status, as reflected in spoken language, do not affect the mind or society is sheer folly.

Knowing and using a few spoken English words and sentences cannot erase the demonic linguistic discriminations ingrained in the mind or the perception of people as great or small.

In around 1982, when my mother was the head of a government department in Kerala, she had the opportunity to prepare multiple-choice questions for the PSC’s Sub Inspector post.

For this purpose, she received question papers from a few previous Sub Inspector tests.

It seems that those determining the policy for such questions lack a clear understanding of their purpose. Creating a general knowledge question paper is not particularly difficult; one can ask about anything. But what quality of a person is measured by proving they know the answers?

For example:

Who was the first Indian woman to go to space?

Which is the widest river in the world?

Who wrote the play Hamlet?

Such a set of questions only measures how many bits of information a person can memorise.

Is this how officers should be selected in India?

[VED]

I state that I have some knowledge of English classical literature, old English literary works for young people, English traditions, and similar matters. Likewise, I have a modest understanding of decorum and codes of conduct in Malayalam, Malabari, and related contexts.

Comparing these two distinct domains, one fact can be asserted with certainty: the classical English literature of the past and the cultural values commonly known as Victorian-era English traditions, etiquette, and social codes are exceptionally refined.

These are almost entirely opposite to the culture and human relational codes of this subcontinent.

Their excellence does not stem from excessive knowledge or erudition but rests solely on the resilience of the soft, flat codes of the English language.

Could the English administration, where it directly governed, replicate and establish such a high-quality cadre of officers in this subcontinent?

No matter how good, capable, or honest an individual is, it is futile if those around them—superiors, subordinates, opportunists, meddlers, and those aligned with a hierarchy flowing from an external leadership—are steeped in a system of high-low distinctions.

What needs to be established here is a canopy filled with high-quality individuals who are devoted to and cherish English traditions. Beneath it, a cadre of officers loyal to these cultural codes of conduct.

Though easy to say, such a system could only be created in a magical atmosphere beyond the realm of dreams. In a region filled with myriad social nightmares, is it possible to spread such a soft yet unbreakable enchanted canopy across the land?

In the past 10,000 years of history, no one in this subcontinent has ever implemented such a thing.

The audacious endeavour was undertaken by a small, almost negligible number of English officers, many of whom were quite young.

These English employees of the East India Company likely had little knowledge of the deep-seated cunning, deceitful practices, sinister schemes, betrayals, hypocrisy, double-talk, traditions of treachery, or the ability to strike while smiling that lie at the core of the feudal language’s social environment.

For no one with discernment and practical sense would embark on such a cultural advancement in this land without ulterior motives. Only naive, utterly pure fools would dare to undertake it.

[VED]

If a community deeply connected to English classical literature were cultivated in this subcontinent, it would indeed be possible to build a group that stands apart from local social philosophies, disgusts, and anxieties. However, this would merely be a single step in that direction.

What is defined here as English classical literature is not contemporary English literature. It is a perspective that views and defines individuals and relationships through an untainted English social lens. (Writers: Oscar Wilde, Charles Dickens, Sir Walter Scott, R. L. Stevenson, Somerset Maugham, Jack London, Mark Twain, etc. Some of these are not traditional Englishmen.)

This very nature gives such literary works a significant limitation. The profound complexities, anxieties, frenzies, and hatreds of feudal language social environments, to be honest, seem absent in English classical literature.

As the social environment becomes increasingly brutish, literary works may incorporate correspondingly fear-inducing elements.

A mere slight change in the sound of a word can suffice to destroy an individual, their family, or their dignity. For example, if the “r” in “avar” (highest he/she) becomes “ḷ” and turns into “avaḷ” (lowest she), the person once called “avar” might not step out of their house. (In Malabari: if the “r” in “or” becomes “ḷ.”)

In the future, it cannot be ruled out that various animals might master English and integrate into human society. Five hundred years ago, if someone had said that the descendants of people in African or South Asian societies, treated like cattle as indentured slaves, would live like other humans in the 20th century, no one would have believed it. Yet, this is what happened wherever English governance reached.

If wild animals migrating into human societies in the future create literary works, their complexities and imaginative nuances would surpass what humans today can conceive. No one today can know what anxieties, imaginative peculiarities, hierarchies, hatreds, or disgusts they might harbour.

...

Would gathering a group well-versed in English classical literature create a high-quality cadre of officers?

No, that is the truth. It is merely one factor.

[VED]

The challenges in establishing a government officer movement based on social equality for the first time in British Malabar’s history were numerous and subtle.

Firstly, personal relationships here are neither perceived nor experienced as they are in English.

Consider friendships where peers casually say “vada” (come, lowest you), “poda” (get lost, lowest you), “vadi” (come, lowest she), “podi” (get lost, lowest she), “nee poda” (lowest you, get lost), “nee podi” (lowest you, get lost), “enthada” (what's it, lowest he?), “enthadi” (what's it, lowest she), “avan” (lowest he), “aval” (lowest she) (in Malabari: “vane,” “podu vane,” “vaLe,” “podaLe,” “inhi podane,” “inhi podole,” “enthane,” “enthalu,” “oan,” “olu”), placing arms on each other’s shoulders or embracing warmly.

Whether such close-knit camaraderie exists in English is doubtful. At first glance, this might seem a shortcoming of English, but matters are far more complex in feudal languages.

Each of these friendly interactions mentioned above is bounded by a social fence. These words can only be used among equals.

For example, such camaraderie might exist among lorry cleaners of the same age. However, using these words between people with slight age differences or different occupational statuses can cause problems.

In English, there’s a proverb: “Birds of the same feather flock together.” But when this idea is translated into feudal languages, it becomes far more complex. The complexities, unimagined in English, arise from the dichotomy and trichotomy in certain word codes in feudal languages.

The issue here is that the level of people with whom an individual forms such deep friendships determines their social boundaries, freedoms, and more. For many with great personality, leadership qualities, and organisational strength, these abilities may feel as though they vanish when they step just beyond this fence.

From such people, with entirely different structural dynamics in personal relationships, a socially egalitarian English officer cadre must be cultivated.

This is no easy task. Even in present-day England, no one understands this.

[VED]

In feudal language societies, people are not truly free, do not think independently, or engage directly with others as they do in English. Instead, each person lives as if trapped in distinct baskets, like chicks covered in a henhouse.

Every individual confined in each basket (Malayalam: “kotta”) exists in a complex web of respect-subordination relationships with others in that cage. The same person may belong to multiple cages. Some cages wield greater power and influence. When these compete with personal relationships in other cages, they may neutralise or even rewrite them.

Many who deeply internalise pristine English classical literature may escape the forced membership of these cages. Those who cannot fully break free may live oscillating between being inside and outside.

Such oscillation can often lead to severe mental distress. This might feel like a psychological experience of being an IAS officer in one context and a mere peon in another, especially for those relegated to a lower status within the henhouse.

To raise individuals from such varied cages into a high-quality English mindset and build an officer movement based on egalitarian social principles, one critical factor is essential.

The quality of this officer movement depends on what it is anchored to at the top.

The greatest value of the officer movement created by the English East India Company lay in the fact that its top echelon was entirely composed of Englishmen. It is also true that a few Irish, Scottish, and Welsh individuals were included.

[VED]

Let me outline some distinctive features of an administrative system with Englishmen at the top. There are more to discuss, but those can follow later.

They speak and think in a language that addresses and describes everyone (even animals) on a single level. However, in Malabar, those under them ranged from the Cherumar (a slave community tied to the land like cattle) at the lowest depths to Namboodiris perched at the pinnacle of the social hierarchy.

It is the feudal word codes in the language that drag some of these communities step-by-step downward while pushing others step-by-step upward.

Just below this English upper tier is a group of officers eager to emulate it. They strive to use English manners and behaviours among themselves and with English-educated locals, as these were the symbols, emblems, and hallmarks of the valued tier back then. Aligning with it was desirable.

At the same time, this officer group is not English. They are born into local languages, bound by feudal language code chains to relatives, friends, subordinates, and others.

No matter how much they try to emulate the English, this fact remains a flaw. More on this will be discussed in the next writing.

The following depicts a hospital scene from around the late 1800s or early 1900s.

It appears to involve a Malabari female doctor and several Malabari female patients.

Let me highlight a few points about this scene. Firstly, an ordinary Englishman would not grasp that there is a hierarchy in the word codes between the doctor and patients. Most likely, a chain of address like “inhi” (lowest you) to “maadam” (highest she) exists between them.

This would be the case regardless of who the doctor is.

Another point: in feudal languages, it is essential for a crowd to gather respectfully around someone to extract social esteem. The more people are made to stand and feel restless, the greater the respect in the eyes of onlookers.

These two tendencies persist in the modern nation of India. Doctors rise and flourish upward. Accordingly, a large crowd must remain in a degraded state. Only then can the massive investment in becoming a doctor be capitalised upon. People strive desperately to become doctors or make their children doctors to seize sky-high respect.

Having Englishmen at the top is indeed best for the vast majority. Their presence at the apex gradually spreads and distributes English manners downward. The highs and lows in social communication between people slowly fade away. Unadulterated English language grows and flourishes unnoticed.

[VED]

What difference is there between an Englishman becoming a government officer and a feudal language speaker becoming one? This is the question that stands in front, in the path this writing has reached.

At first glance, for an ordinary citizen, the two would be entirely different experiences.

When Englishmen occupy officer positions, they stand at great heights and do not descend. Yet, they provide ample space and heights for those below to rise and elevate their personality. This is not woven from their personal qualities, character, erudition, good nature, or love for humanity. Rather, it is simply how personal relationships can be established in untainted, pristine English.

However, when a feudal language speaker rises to the top, they may give the impression of being at great heights, but personally, they remain entangled in a web of respect-subordination relationships with many. Mentally, they exist as a contorted pygmy.

When such individuals occupy officer positions, for the ordinary citizen, they form a low ceiling that suppresses their personality. These feudal language officers, who operate at the top, view and define the citizens they subordinate as belonging to different tiers.

This is a social phenomenon that feudal languages spontaneously design. The individual is not to blame.

Beyond all this lies the deviation that feudal language officers introduce into government procedures. That will be discussed in the next writing.

[VED]

In a pristine English social environment, when a citizen visits a government office to conduct business, the interaction proceeds roughly as follows:

The visitor enters the office and approaches the front office counter, reception, or enquiry counter, asking, “May I know where the ... Section is?”

A clear response is provided. The visitor’s financial status, skin colour, caste, age, social standing, or occupation does not influence this conversation, as English lacks distinct word codes for such factors. Since both parties typically use English as their inherited language, the words are soft and delivered in a neutral tone.

The visitor proceeds to the indicated section. If seating is available, they sit. If they do not sit and the conversation is lengthy, the person behind the desk may say, “Please sit down.” Note that “please” here does not mean a sort of pleading to an honoured or imply pleading. This kind of sense emerges only when “please” is translated into feudal languages.

If not invited to sit, the visitor may ask, “May I sit down?” or “May I take a seat?”

In formal conversations, both sides typically use titles like “Mr.,” “Mrs.,” or “Miss” before names. They address each other with words like “you,” “your,” “yours,” “he,” “his,” “him,” “she,” “her,” “hers,” which have no higher or lower forms.

When making requests, words like “please,” “may I?,” “can I?,” “can you please?,” “could you please?,” “I apologise,” or “excuse me” are used to soften any potential discord or mistakes. At the same time, neither party degrades themselves in such interactions.

In English, nothing suggests that a government employee holds a higher social status. Instead, a government office worker who errs in efficiency is merely an employee who apologises profusely.

[VED]

The intention here was to discuss something else, but the topic has veered to this point.

In an English social environment, a citizen visits a government office to enquire about licences needed for their business and speaks with the relevant office employee.

Both parties use “you,” “he,” “she,” and so forth.

In English, there is no code that would cause the office worker to worry that granting the licences too easily would instantly elevate the visitor from “avan” (lowest he) to “adheham” (highest he).

Matters proceed straightforwardly, without any hypocrisy. If the licence can be granted, it is.

However, if the officer or subordinate employee handling the matter is a feudal language speaker, the situation differs.

When approaching such a person, the more respect and subservience the visitor shows, the better. The feudal language-speaking government office worker claims a position of grandeur.

“Saar” (highest he) or “maadam” (highest she).

Strangely, despite feudal languages boasting an abundance of words, these two terms, derived from English “you,” “he,” “she,” also serve as status markers appended to names. There is a serious flaw in using “maadam” this way.

The issue is this: “maadam” seems to be a translation of the English “madam” into feudal languages. In English, “madam” is the feminine equivalent of “sir.”

In English, “sir” has two distinct uses. In England, those granted knighthood by the king or queen receive “Sir” as an honorific before their name, similar to how doctorates today grant the title “Dr.” However, knighthood is exceedingly rare, unlike doctorates, which are now like cinema tickets—available to anyone who queues up and pays. This distinction persists.

In English, the use of “sir” or “madam” does not affect or manipulate words like “you,” “your,” “yours,” “he,” “his,” “him,” “she,” “her,” “hers.”

Despite claiming a vast vocabulary to describe human emotions, feudal languages lack words for respectful human communication. This is why English words like “sir” and “madam” are translated, distorted, mispronounced, and misused in inappropriate contexts.

These words are used for a person’s name, “you,” “your,” “yours,” “he,” “his,” “him,” “she,” “her,” “hers,” suggesting that feudal language words are insufficient.

However, in attempting to mask the deficiencies of local languages with such degrading practices, a certain folly is evident, though it cannot be stated too strongly.

Using “madam” as a name in English is derogatory. In English, this usage is considered slang.

The simple fact is this: in English, “madam” is a term used as a suffix to the names of women who run brothels (brothel matrons).

Note that in pristine English, “sir” and “madam” are not used after names or as names.

Scholars with superficial English knowledge have ignorantly introduced this folly into many feudal languages, embedding it in schools, colleges, government, and private institutions.

Those fluent in English avoid such usage. For addressing women formally in quality English, the word “Mrs.” is used as a prefix to their names. However, those with the courage to teach and promote high-quality English are increasingly rare in this subcontinent.

[VED]

In British India, the English East India Company aimed to establish an administrative system based on English linguistic and cultural values, staffed by native individuals.

However, these individuals harboured many psychological anxieties and agitations that the British could not clearly comprehend. It was with an understanding of these elusive observations that they designed this administrative system.

To speak the truth, most of the coarse behaviours attributed to Indian officials today are, in fact, the same coarse and primitive behaviours found among the common people of this land.

People generally avoid those with distasteful behaviours, keeping them at a distance. They maintain contact only with those they respect or who willingly offer respect.

However, when it comes to government officials, people often cannot avoid them. This is the problem.

When officials look at the people approaching them, to be honest, they see the beastliness created by linguistic codes reflected in the visitor’s face, as if in a mirror.

Consequently, when someone from the public enters a government office, the clerk sitting at the desk often shows reluctance to look them in the face and speak.

To be frank, this is a mental attitude absent in an English linguistic environment.

Behind this, linguistic codes operate in various ways. One issue is determining who deserves respect.

If the person who enters clearly shows respect or subservience, the clerk has no difficulty looking them in the face and speaking. But if the person is unwilling to do so, the clerk shows reluctance to meet their gaze. Their words become harsh. Sometimes, they may not respond clearly at all. The reason is the underlying thought: “Am I your servant to answer you?”

Feudal languages often foster a competitive mindset between individuals—this is the reality. The purpose of communication often takes a backseat.

At the same time, if the person who enters is someone of high status deserving respect, the clerk has no trouble looking them in the face. The experience of meeting their gaze is clearly invigorating.

There is an important point here. Feudal linguistic codes are rigidly inscribed with the notion that it is offensive for a low-status person to fail to show respect and keep their distance.

When looking at a beautiful woman, the mind experiences a powerful surge of positive emotions.

Beautiful paintings, beautiful crowds, and beautiful natural landscapes all lead the mind to a state of euphoria. Behind all these, powerful codes are at work.

However, in feudal linguistic regions, individuals and other visuals are often accompanied by negative codes operating in the background. This is often one reason why many who visit English regions feel reluctant to return.

There are other reasons as well.

When observing the English people, negative codes rarely intrude into the mind. Likewise, negative codes do not quickly take root in their minds either. This is because their linguistic framework lacks the gaps that allow feudal linguistic codes to infiltrate. However, through prolonged contact, such codes may begin to affect them.

When this happens, the resulting mental tension in them is defined as English racism.

The racism found among continental Europeans is a different phenomenon. However, it seems that no one has a clear understanding of the distinction between the two.

[VED]

In a feudal linguistic state, when someone needs something from the government—especially if the matter is somewhat complex or if officials have the discretion to grant or withhold it based on their judgement—they will not only approach the official directly at the office but also attempt to reach them through another avenue.

They may involve the official’s close friend, father, mother, uncle, aunt, in-laws, or a social authority to introduce or recommend them.

Before this writing proceeds, two points need clarification.

First, the discretionary power granted to officials (officers). To be honest, this is not the authority to act arbitrarily. Rather, it is merely the facility to analyse matters and arrive at a judicious decision. The word judicious, as used here, was indeed the hallmark of English administrative systems.

It means making decisions in a clear and just manner, with reason, discernment, and clarity, unaffected by irrelevant influences.

Such an approach is simply not possible in a feudal linguistic environment. This writing explains why.

The second point is this: how can relatives, friends, or others exert influence or control over an officer? Why can’t the officer brush off such influences or constraints? Or alternatively, why does the officer actually favour these influences and obligations?

This matter will be explained in the next writing.

[VED]

Official decisions must certainly be judicious. This means that if a superior asks for an explanation, the official must be able to provide one. Alternatively, if a citizen related to the matter asks, an explanation must also be given.

In the old English administrative traditions, if a superior asked for an explanation in English, the official could provide it without displaying any unnecessary subservience. This is simply not possible in a feudal linguistic administrative environment. Often, matters get tangled and stuck in unnecessary bureaucratic scribbles.

At the same time, during the old English administration in Malabar, a citizen could use the words ningal (middle-level you) or ingal (height level - you) as an equivalent to the English you, to inquire about matters with an official. This caused the official no discomfort. The reason is that the highest positions in the administrative hierarchy were held by English officials.

In other words, those at the top were speakers of a language that allowed communication with the highest level of personal dignity.

Moreover, in Malabar, there was no word above ningal or ingal to replace the English you.

English-speaking local officers generally did not use words like nee or inji (lowest you) when officially interacting with citizens.

But today, things are different. From the lowest to the highest ranks, the administrative system is dominated by feudal linguistic structures. At every level, the primary aim is to secure respect for everything and anything. In such circumstances, whether an official acted judiciously often becomes secondary. Instead, the superior’s attention is mostly on whether the subordinate clearly and publicly showed respect. If an official provides a splendid explanation without offering the required respect, their career is as good as over.

To make matters worse, feudal languages are not conducive to citizens asking officials for explanations.

“Avan (lowest he) asked me for an explanation. Avante (lowest his) insolence must be curbed,” would be the official’s attitude. Blaming him is pointless. In feudal languages, if you don’t shock and subdue, how will servility be obtained?

[VED]

Before proceeding, let’s examine a couple of words in Malabari.

It seems that two distinct movements in Travancore deliberately erased from history the fact that a different language existed in British Malabar, unlike Travancore. Moreover, they propagated and nurtured a false history suggesting that Malabar and Travancore were historically and ethnically one people.

We cannot delve into this topic now. If touched upon, it would be like peering through an electron microscope—what seems trivial would expand into a football field.

Thus, let’s keep our focus on the words mentioned above.

In Malayalam, there is the word ningal. In Travancore, it is commonly used to address subordinates, workers, and the like. In earlier times, college lecturers often addressed students with this word.

From a Malabari perspective, this is a convenient arrangement.

Below ningal in Malayalam are the words thaan and iyal. The lowest is nee. These lower words are used for those of very low status or for those with whom one shares close familiarity.

In Malabari, none of these words existed.

The primary word in Malabari was ningal or ingal, used to denote utmost respect.

This Malabari ningal is not the same as Malayalam’s ningal. Rather, it is a word of profound respect. In Malabari, it was used to address one’s mother, father, uncle, aunt, elder brother, elder sister, and even high-ranking officials. Therefore, this ningal is not Malayalam’s ningal. Using Malayalam’s ningal to address the aforementioned people could spark an outright explosion.

There are many other words in Malabari and Malayalam that sound the same but have different meanings.

For example: chaaduka, mappila, koottamkooduka, thirinju, adichu, kazhivu, illa, choodi, thoppikkuka, thachu, etc.

At the same time, while ningal and ingal in Malabari may seem like the same word, there is, in fact, a subtle yet significant difference. When ningal is used respectfully, the speaker employs it without conveying any sense of inferiority.

In contrast, when ingal is used, the speaker subtly—or sometimes overtly—implies inferiority, subservience, or lesser status.

If both parties are of equal standing, they use the same word form reciprocally.

These two words were traditionally used in Malabari to address authorities, local elders, and other high-status individuals.

In return, depending on the person, they would use ingal, ningal, or inji in Malabari. (It seems things were slightly different in South Malabar, but more information is lacking.)

In Malayalam, words like adheham (highest he), ayaal (middle he/she), and avan (lowest he) have different equivalents in Malabari, which will be addressed later.

There is much to say on this topic. However, using a microscope might make it hard to find the way back to the main path. Thus, this topic is paused here for now.

With the unification of North and South Malabar into the British Malabar District, English-proficient officers, in some places, displaced local notables and traditional authorities.

The main difference observed in them was their significant reduction in using words like inji (lowest you), oan (lowest he), olu (lowest she), and aittingal (lowest them)O when formally interacting with the public. The primary reason was the depth of their unadulterated English proficiency. In English, defined daily by simple words like you, he, and she, their English knowledge did not permit them to demean others by switching to a language that lowered status.

Nevertheless, a fundamental flaw persisted in the English administration, one they could not erase: most of these officers were, at their core, from local families. This remained a minor but undeniable shortcoming.

[VED]

In feudal languages, it was commonly said that “people are valued like gemstones.” Here, “gemstones” refers to precious jewels.

In a land where people are assigned different values and worth, the English East India Company attempted to design an egalitarian administrative system.

Local officials, steeped solely in feudal linguistic codes, used the cruelty inherent in those codes to discriminate in their dealings with the public.

Thus, the necessity arose for a system of officers above them, whose minds were filled with the egalitarian language of English. The public needed to approach these officers directly for their needs.

This is easier said than done. The problem is that the public, too, harbours the cruelty of feudal languages within—hiding a dagger inside while displaying a hood outside.

If treated gently, courteously, or humbly, they raise their hood and sharpen their tone.

They do not respect those of equal social standing. Instead, they seize any opportunity to shock publicly and create scenes to boast about in their social circles, especially when dealing with those of lower status. Those of higher status find other ways to dominate.

Consider this:

A police DGP stands with a few policemen. To an uninformed observer, he appears as just another police officer with some subordinates. The DGP may even be physically small in stature.

The observer feels no significant or awe-inspiring respect for this officer.

But then someone explains: that man is the DGP. Below adheham (highest he) is the IG, then the DIG, followed by the SP, DYSP, CI, SI, ASI, Head Constable, and finally the Constable.

Only then does the observer realise that this man is not just any man but the very peak of Mount Everest. Each rank below him is, to the observer, a towering mountain in itself. Thus, the DGP stands atop a staircase of colossal peaks.

For an ordinary labourer, addressed as eda or nee (lowest you) by the lowest-ranking Constable—a mountain in itself—the respect encoded in these words ascends step by step, reaching the clouds where the DGP resides.

This is a mental phenomenon absent in English. In English, a system defined simply by you, he, and him creates a wondrous transformation when transposed into feudal languages, as described above.

[VED]

Before moving forward, I feel it necessary to highlight two clear points.

Both pertain to the social structure regaining strength in regions where English rule has been abandoned.

Consider the police hierarchy mentioned in the previous writing, from the Constable to the DGP. At the lowest level, the Constable can casually address and refer to a group of people with nee (lowest you), inji (lowest you), avan (lowest he), oan (lowest he), aval (lowest she), olu (lowest she), their bare names, or phrases like enthada and enthadi (both terrible forms of addressing).

Just above this, the Head Constable has a similar group of people they can address in this manner.

Above that, the SI has their own group.

This hierarchical structure of tiers, extending up to the DGP’s level, is the social framework created by feudal languages.

Those above the SP level rarely interact excessively with the crowd that a Constable can casually address. Even when they do, they strive to maintain a sense of superiority in their tone, words, choice of topics, and references to personal relationships.

Such a tiered structure, where people themselves stand in stratified layers based on how they are addressed, cannot be designed by unadulterated English. This is because, in English, a police officer of any rank addresses and refers to any member of the public in the same manner.

The second point is this: feudal languages in India create a social environment that stretches from an unfathomably deep social abyss at the bottom to the towering peaks of a mountain range at the top. For someone at the bottom looking up, the higher echelons and their word codes seem impossibly distant.

Generally speaking, people’s character traits and behavioural norms—whether gentle, coarse, or otherwise—align with and conform to the tier they occupy.

There are many contradictions and paradoxes in the points mentioned above, which have existed and continue to exist. These will be addressed in the next writing.

Please Note: The police were used in this example purely for illustrative convenience. In reality, any government department or institution could be used for this example.

[VED]

South Asia is not like Japan. In Japan, the primary language is Japanese, understood to be a language with intricate hierarchies. It’s understood that people are stratified into distinct tiers in that country.

At the end of the Second World War, Japanese companies, through masterful diplomacy, outwitted naive American diplomats, securing access for Japanese industrialists to the American commercial market. Thus, even today, some naive American academic scholars fail to realise that Japan won the war.

The above point is not the subject of discussion here, so I won’t delve into it. But what I’m getting at is this:

The shadows of America’s sophisticated living standards are visible in Japan. People of all levels wear fine clothing. There are good roads and all sorts of material comforts.

Yet, it’s clear that the people remain steeped in rigid hierarchies.

Thousands of pornographic videos featuring Japanese women are available on the internet. In many of these, it’s evident that the women involved did not consent knowingly to being filmed.

In many cases, these women appear in a state of subservience.

One might think they could complain or take legal action against those exploiting them. But this is simply not feasible. The language imposes numerous barriers, invisible when viewed through an English lens.

For example, consider a young man in India visiting a rural village office. The office worker (government official) addresses him as nee (lowest you).

The issue is genuinely serious. A worker employed by the people’s government has used a derogatory term towards a citizen.

The problem is that, among the three words—nee, ningal, and thangal (or Saar)—the office worker has used the most degrading one towards a citizen of the country. This is an offence warranting dismissal. By constitutional standards, the worker’s action is tantamount to trampling on the spirit of the Constitution.

If this young man, armed with this knowledge, goes to a police station or a Tahsildar’s office to complain, he might still be addressed as nee. The matter won’t progress. The Constitution may contain lofty ideals, but the government office worker’s stance would be that those don’t apply to them.

Blaming them is pointless. It’s the people themselves who eagerly vie to become government office workers.

Those who fail to secure such positions are like the case mentioned in Japan.

Returning to the topic:

It’s assumed that in ancient Japan, the language had only one form of hierarchy. I don’t know how it is today, as those at the top may have knowledge of English.

But in South Asia, things are different. Multiple hierarchies within the same language compete with one another. Because of this, someone at the bottom in one context might, through another path, be at the top.

For this reason, as mentioned in the previous writing, the police department’s various tiers define society in stratified layers, but there’s also a dynamic quality to this structure. Today, many people aspire to leap from one tier to a higher one, as this is now a feasible ambition.

Similarly, it’s possible to pull someone down from a higher tier or kick them down from one’s own tier. The words in the language provide the strength and support for these tiers. Kicking, pushing, stabbing, pulling down, or lifting up—all are facilitated by the weapon of words in the language.

[VED]

It’s necessary to mention something about the quality of society. When comparing the societies of the South Asian subcontinent and other feudal language nations with the traditional societies of English-speaking nations, the former lag behind in quality.

Readers must clearly understand what is meant above. It’s not that individuals lack quality. Rather, it refers to the general standard of society as a whole.

Many individuals may surpass the English in skill, intelligence, physical ability, and more. However, when these individuals need to communicate, share knowledge, or ask something of one another, they face the towering walls of feudal hierarchies. Often, it feels like exerting force against an immovable rock.

To make matters worse, every individual lives, behaves, and operates under the dominance of other locals.

For example, the officers above officials in this land are not Englishmen. Instead, they come from various local communities.

From Brahmin Namboodiris to those claiming Kshatriya status like Varmas, as well as temple-dwelling communities like Nambisans, Pushpakans, and Variers, various ranks of Nairs, Marars, other Malayali Shudras, Ezhavas, Shanars, Pandarams, Kushavas, Kuravas, Chaliyans, Pariyars, Kanikkars, Mal Arayans, Vedars, Pulayas, and countless other groups—these are the people who, today, enter government jobs as officials from Travancore.

Various Muslim communities in Travancore are similarly eager to do the same.

Beyond these, there are Syriac Christians and other Christians in Travancore. Historically, Syriac Christians migrated to Travancore specifically to assert slave-owning authority over the enslaved local population.

In Malabar, these groups vary slightly, as they do in other parts of the subcontinent.

These groups are not merely castes in the true sense but rather communities that have either fallen into or seized various levels of status.

Their common trait, woven by local feudal languages, is this: to subdue others as much as possible and degrade those who fall beneath them through word codes.

The very notion that the public is beneath those who secure government jobs stems from feudal language ideologies.

Officials must be “respected”! But shouldn’t they, in turn, respect the public?

The fact that the public in this land is considered beneath officials is itself a flaw in their societal quality.

Many brilliant South Asian intellectuals who have migrated to English-speaking nations today display astonishing skills. But the core reason for their mental vitality is simply that they are not under the thumb of South Asian officials.

If they return to this land and live at the level of ordinary people, their situation would be utterly deplorable.

[VED]

I plan to say a bit more about the consequences of feudal language speakers infiltrating English-speaking nations before returning to the main thread of this writing.

In South Asia, society is divided into distinct communities arranged in hierarchical tiers. Individual talent is irrelevant. For instance, a carpenter in a furniture production unit may have significant skill and brilliance in their craft, but that doesn’t mean they’ll be appointed to a high position in the company.

I’ve seen book vendors on private buses. Some are remarkably eloquent, with impressive verbal dexterity, and they sell books well. Yet, typically, their employers keep them in that role and nothing more.

The reason is that elevating such an individual risks creating a social phenomenon where an entire lower-tier community is pulled upward.

Unlike in English, where individuals are connected by uniform word codes, in South Asia, individuals in each social tier are bound to others within and across tiers by distinct and precise word codes.

Elevating someone from a lower tier to a higher position often provokes resentment, opposition, and disgust among others.

In English-speaking nations, ordinary people cannot create such stratified tiers through language codes. As a result, many large companies often appoint individuals to roles suited to their personal abilities. Until about 20 years ago, it was common to hear—without any surprise—that people who excelled in sales at commercial companies rose to top positions. Many of these individuals started as salesmen in those companies.

By the 1990s, in English-speaking nations, many from third-world countries joined the IT sector at modest wages. IT is a field that can be learned relatively easily because individuals work with sophisticated computers that exhibit remarkable intellectual prowess. Simple code configurations can trigger extraordinary performances from these machines.

Here’s something to consider: South Asia has individuals capable of displaying exceptional skill not only in IT but also in fields like construction, ironwork, carpentry, and countless others. However, only the owners of IT firms in the US had the opportunity to bring in low-wage workers and reap massive profits because IT was a nascent field.

Yet, this was the most powerful and influential sector the world had ever seen. Handing this expertise to foreigners without oversight paved the way for significant problems in English-speaking nations.

They were led, as if with a rope through their noses, into various global issues.

To make matters worse, soon after, those who showed strong IT skills were appointed to high positions in many IT companies. All this was done from the perspective of an English social framework.

However, the newcomers were feudal language speakers. In their home countries, a skilled worker is kept tied to their craft, not elevated to top company positions.

When feudal language speakers infiltrate English-speaking nations, it’s like an elephant storming into a sugarcane field from a dense forest filled with rugged terrain, sharp thorns, jagged rocks, steep slopes, and clawing leaves.

The sugarcane field is full of sweet stalks, the terrain smooth and pristine. But once the elephant rampages, the field’s appearance changes entirely. The sugarcane is trampled and crushed, the ground churned as if ploughed.

[VED]

It’s been about 25 years since I read India’s official history. Yet, it seems that the essence of that official history is being read and studied by students and people today with even greater zeal.

I lack the boldness to say that India’s official history is a pure lie. But that’s often what it feels like. It frequently seems that historians lack substantial social insight. It appears that historical information spreads from one history book to another, like a chain.

The narrative written about the English East India Company in this subcontinent often feels like a superficial sprint across the surface of social realities.

There’s a significant error in writing the history of this subcontinent in the same manner as England’s history.

The ordinary people of England have a sense of personal dignity and social status that the ordinary people of this subcontinent lack. The people here are divided into multiple tiers, not forming a cohesive society. Writing tales of the foolish wars of petty kings in a region where people are eager to fight each other, overthrow one another, and trample the fallen communities feels devoid of any meaningful historical study.

It seems that today’s official history dismisses the initiatives of the English East India Company as mere folly, writing nonsense that undermines them.

In a linguistic and social environment where communities and individuals create various anxieties among themselves, the English East India Company created a group of English-speaking officers without regard for family prestige or caste glory. The most tangible thing they did to give this system strength, support, and elevation was to first provide officers with a raised seat, a high platform, or a stage in the office.

The reason was that, in a linguistic culture where people exploit the humility of others, the public could directly approach officers. There was no need to grovel before clerks or peons.

This office seating structure existed in places under English rule. It seems that such a system did not exist in native kingdoms outside English governance.

More on this will be provided in the next writing.

[VED]

When writing the grand history of India, certain matters demand attention. When the English East India Company established a trading centre, or “Factory,” in Tellicherry, Malabar comprised two regions with little social connection: North Malabar, north of the Korapuzha River, and South Malabar, to its south.

Each region had multiple kingdoms and royal families, constantly at war with one another. People hacked, slashed, and dismembered each other—eyes, livers, hands, and legs reduced to pieces. This was a daily occurrence. They saw valour, nobility, family prestige, and more in such acts, proclaiming it loudly.

In North Malabar, there was Kadathanad near Badagara, Kottayam just to its north, and Kolathunad further north (the Chirakkal royal family, a few miles north of Cannanore town). Within the same area was the tiny Arakkal kingdom (confined to the town limits of present-day Kannur), followed further north by Nileshwaram, Sreekandapuram, and other regions with local chieftains. The Kolathiri dynasty itself split into northern and southern factions, competing against each other.

To make matters worse, every royal family was rife with internal feuds and factional disputes. For example, consider this:

Around 1680, a disruption occurred in the Northern Kolattiri family. Hamilton, who visited the reigning Kolattiri in 1702 but had been on the coast earlier, described the event: “There were three princes of the blood royal who conspired to cut him” (the reigning Prince Unnitri) “and his family off, to possess themselves of the government of Callistree” (Kolattiri). “But being detected, they were beheaded on altars built of stone. About two miles from Cannanore, the altars were standing when I saw them. They were only square piles of hewn stone, about three yards high and four yards each side.” (Malabar Manual)

Translation: In 1680, a feud erupted in the Northern Kolattiri family. Three princes plotted to assassinate the reigning King Unnitiri and his family. The conspiracy was uncovered, and all three were beheaded on sacrificial stones. This took place in Cannanore.

There were also several local chieftains who survived by switching allegiances at will or threatening to do so.

Travelling from one region to another was, ordinarily, a terrifying prospect. However, one could reach coastal areas of different regions by sea.

But this was not feasible for Brahmins. The seas were dominated by Mukkavas, who would not show them much respect. Being addressed or referred to with disrespectful terms like inji (lowest you) or oan (lowest he) could evaporate a Brahmin’s Brahminhood. Thus, sea travel was forbidden for Brahmins.

Moreover, all kings granted their coastal traders authority and protection for sea piracy. The king of Kurumbranad (likely Kadathanad) held the title of lord of pirates. Without his pass, ships passing near Badagara were doomed.

As for women, falling into the hands of a faction that did not submit meant certain peril.

It was only after English rule and an English flag brought protection to the seas that Brahmins were freed from their homeland’s prison-like constraints. Sea travel became safe for women as well.

In South Malabar, Calicut (Kozhikode) is the most renowned, for a peculiar reason.

Who was its king? The Zamorin. Did the Zamorin have a name? Perhaps, but it was irrelevant. The term Zamorin was widely known in English and other international trading hubs. It’s a word that carries grandeur, even surpassing the Roman Emperor’s Caesar in majesty.

Who was this Zamorin Emperor? He was the ruler of the great kingdom of Calicut, far to the east across the ocean. In reality, though, Calicut was a very small region.

Calicut had significant trade ties with the king of Egypt. Arab traders from Egypt came here to buy pepper, which they sold to Venetian merchants in Europe. Along with the pepper, the Zamorin’s name and fame travelled.

It’s true that each Zamorin had a distinct name, but history books rarely mention them. Before the English arrived, Calicut’s kings were generally recorded as having dark skin. They may have had blood ties with Tamils or Mukkavas, though it’s unclear.

Generally speaking, across this peninsula, anyone who gained social authority eagerly sought, hinted at, or fabricated a Brahmin or Kshatriya blood connection.



One of the provided images depicts the Zamorin of Calicut meeting Vasco da Gama, painted by the Portuguese artist Veloso Salgado. The description states: The king was sitting in his chair which the factor (who had preceded Da Gama with the presents) had got him to sit upon: he was a very dark man, half-naked, and clothed with white cloths from the middle to the knees. The depicted setting may not be accurate, as the king’s residences were likely thatched. It’s reasonable to assume the European artist painted it based on imagination.



The second image is a map of the Calicut “empire.” Within every kingdom, their kings styled themselves as maharajas or emperors. In contrast, Queen Victoria, who ruled the world’s largest empire, was simply Queen Victoria in England. Yet, in this subcontinent, the foolish title Empress of India was thrust upon her by locals.

[VED]

The map depicts the Calicut Empire (Calicut - Kozhikode - Empire) as ruling over South Malabar and extending to Venad (Travancore). Who drew this map is unknown. In truth, when continental Europeans and the English arrived, Calicut was a small region. Even Palghat (Palakkad) lay beyond its jurisdiction.

Moreover, Valluvanad, just south of Calicut (from Calicut’s southern edge to Ponnani), was outside Calicut’s control. Readers may have heard of the Mamankam festival held at the Nava Mukunda Temple in Tirunavaya, Valluvanad. That region belonged to the Valluvanad king.

Valluvanad itself was distinct from regions like Eranad and Ponnani. The historical boundaries of these areas are unclear. Small elite families held vast populations in stratified servitude. No one was inherently bad or good; they lived according to linguistic codes.

Cochin (Perumpadappu), south of Valluvanad, was also beyond Calicut’s authority.

Historically, references to the “people” of North and South Malabar typically meant only Brahmins, temple-dwelling communities, and Nairs. My impression is that temple-dwellers are rarely mentioned, though I’m not certain.

Below Nairs in North Malabar were the Marumakkathayam (matrilineal) Thiyyas. In South Malabar, there were Makkathayam (patrilineal) Thiyyas, another distinct community. The Malabar Manual, attributed to William Logan, contains only brief references to both groups. There’s an indication that Nairs and Thiyyas served in the English Factory’s militia in Tellicherry. The English inclusion of Thiyyas in the militia likely caused significant social upheaval.

In sections of the Manual believably written by Nairs, their greatness is extolled. Conversely, parts clearly authored by Logan himself portray Nairs in a starkly opposite light.

It seems a small percentage of Thiyyas had wealth and property. The Manual notes that Nairs and some Thiyya families participated together in Panappayattu, a remarkable social banking system. The English administration prohibited officers from joining such schemes, as participation could compromise their impartiality in official duties.

There are only fleeting references to the numerous communities below Thiyyas. Cherumas, other enslaved groups, Kurichiyas, and Kurumbas are mentioned briefly, in passing.

This discussion aims to highlight small details that readers of India’s grand history should note. This is the reality of Malabar, barely visible on India’s map. Seen in this light, the subcontinent was filled with countless tiny regions warring with each other for centuries.

When we speak of the Vijayanagar Empire, Mughal Empire, Magadha Empire, or Delhi’s Slave Sultans, what goes unnoticed is that within each empire, countless small kingdoms constantly fought each other, and elite families, cloaked in nobility, kept numerous communities in servitude.

The English East India Company was the first to break the shackles of those trapped in the garbage heaps and cesspits of these elite families. This likely caused great anxiety among the upper echelons of each liberated tier.

In Malabar, Hyder Ali, of Moroccan descent, and his son Tipu are said to have done something similar in a frenzied manner. However, their actions were not only marked by deeply painful events but also amounted to mere upheaval of the social structure, lacking mature plans for social re-engineering.

Social engineering is a highly complex subject. I know of no one who deeply grasped its intricacies. Yet, the actions of the English East India Company’s personnel reveal a clear understanding of the English social environment and the dignity owed to individuals in social interactions.

[VED]

This writing isn’t straying from the path. Rather, it’s leaping far ahead along it. As mentioned earlier, touching on something is like peering through an electron microscope—a small prick expands into a football field.

Having come this far, I’ll move a bit further before returning to the earlier point.

Official historians swear that the English ruled here by dividing. A young English official once wrote a catchy phrase in a file: Divide and rule! Its context will be discussed later.

In 1945, the British Labour Party came to power in Britain. Their declared policy was to dismantle the British Empire. Prime Minister Clement Attlee hastily distributed each region of the empire to locals he or other party members knew from colleges in England, or to others who had roamed England in some capacity. He showed great urgency, as elections loomed in a few years, potentially ending their rule.

According to Travancore State Manual by Nagam Aiya, in the 1900s, this subcontinent had over 2,000 kings. Though many lost power, the English administration provided them with pensions for a dignified life.

In 1947, Muhammad Ali Jinnah and Nehru were given shares of the British-Indian army.

They were also allotted British India (the Madras, Calcutta, and Bombay Presidencies).

However, numerous small kingdoms existed adjacent to British India. Thriving peacefully under English protection, these kingdoms had no significant armies, as no one dared attack them. If anyone tried, the English administration would intervene.

In 1947, the situation turned dire. Jinnah and Nehru prepared to seize all the small kingdoms bordering their allotted territories. In the south, Travancore, and in the north, Kashmir, among others, faced threats from Nehru’s army. Similarly, Kashmir, Balochistan, and other regions faced threats from Jinnah’s army. I lack detailed knowledge of regions further afield.

The Travancore king declared his kingdom’s independence, but he likely considered the consequences of Nehru’s army storming the palace.

In Kashmir, both Jinnah’s and Nehru’s armies invaded.

The subcontinent’s northern regions burned in massive communal riots. Ten lakh people were hacked, stabbed, or burned alive. Women were abducted by various factions. Some English army officers, who hadn’t yet returned home, used their troops to rescue screaming refugees.

The political leaders of the two nascent nations seemed untroubled. Over roughly 100 years, the English administration had meticulously built a governance system, army, police, and thousands of amenities, which were handed to them on a silver platter.

This is how Pakistan and India were born in August 1947.

This sparked massive upheavals in both nations for years. Indications suggest revolutions persist in Balochistan even today, though I know little more. In East Pakistan, a revolution against West Pakistan arose with India’s support, splitting the country in two.

India’s most dramatic revolution occurred in Punjab. At Amritsar’s Golden Temple, Indian troops battled freedom-fighting revolutionaries for nearly two weeks, killing most by gunfire or otherwise. Their leader was also killed.

In north-eastern states like Mizoram, Assam, and Nagaland, revolutions raged for decades until, exhausted, the people re-joined the mainstream.

In West Bengal, impoverished people launched an armed revolution from Naxalbari village. Bengal police ruthlessly crushed them.

While history books now glorify a Baghet Singh, thousands of similar impulsive revolutionaries are born and die by bullets or beatings in these three nations, even today.

Today, three nations exist on this peninsula: Pakistan, India, and Bangladesh. All maintain armies, navies, and air forces at the cost of billions of rupees. The peace of British India no longer exists here.


Image: Freedom fight in Punjab crushed by the Indian army

When purchasing massive weaponry, there’s no guarantee that senior officials and military leaders in these three nations aren’t pocketing billions in commissions. In this regard, the three nations are cut from the same cloth and cooperate with each other.

Military officers in all three nations quietly send their offspring to English-speaking countries. They can’t be blamed, as many loudmouth revolutionary leaders do the same.

The foolishness of claiming the English divided India is evident in the facts above.

These historical details have been written rapidly above. I intend to delve deeper into them later.


Image Details: One of the images depicts the communal riots that ravaged the northern regions of the peninsula.

[VED]

Though the historical details mentioned earlier beckon strongly, I’ll set them aside and step back a short distance.

In the Malabar district of the Madras Presidency, governed first by the English East India Company and later directly by Britain, the government administrative system was created in an entirely novel manner. Village authorities (unlike today’s “village officers,” who typically didn’t know English, based on my understanding) were not part of this.

Very young officers, operating in a thoroughly English communication environment, sat on elevated platforms in offices, big and small. The public approached them directly, submitting their documents and petitions. (It’s understood that only about 10% of officers were direct recruits.)

In Malabar, the language was Malabari. Socially higher individuals addressed officers as ningal (you, equal level). Those lower in status used ingal (you, deferential).

It can be assumed that direct recruit officers generally did not address the public with inji or nee (lowest you). When referring to male visitors, they might use Malayalam terms like avar (highest he / him), addeham (he, respectful), or ayaal (he). (Malayalam, not Malabari, was taught as the local language.) However, issues often arose with women. Visitors themselves frequently referred to accompanying women as olu (lowest she), which was problematic.

This is an issue.

Other communication changes were in place within the office. How would a direct recruit officer address a clerk older than them?

For example, the clerk’s name is Balan, aged 45, while the officer is 25.

Back then, a direct recruit officer would address and refer to this clerk as Mr. Balan. I have personally witnessed this form of address.

In Malabari, addressing a superior by name posed issues in many contexts. The convention for addressing or referring to someone in a formal high position was to use their title. A makeshift solution emerged with the advent of Malayalam: the word saar (highest you, he / him) became a shortcut fix. This fourth-tier word provided significant convenience in fourth-tier systems, or so many felt. However, it rendered Malabari’s ningal and ingal obsolete.

Today, this is a major phenomenon. Most government officers and offices operate in the local language. It doesn’t seem that officers know English, and even if they do, they lack clear rules for using such communication methods. Often, things proceed haphazardly. Bold officers call people by name to shock. Less daring ones append chetta (brother) or chechi (sister) to names when addressing or referring to someone. (The above does not refer to all-India cadre officers like IAS/IPS.)

In the Indian army, a young officer (aged 23) addresses a soldier under them (aged 48) as tu (nee, lowest you). Using aap (thangal, respectful you) instead would reduce military discipline to dust.

Feudal languages have clear directional codes for linguistic interactions. Following these fosters discipline like that in the Indian army. The subordinate is subdued but performs the assigned task.

In contrast, an English environment doesn’t require such oppressive discipline. The work atmosphere itself is highly enjoyable.

When making Malayalam the administrative language, the most critical change needed is in the communication system within government offices.

If officers address each subordinate as nee and refer to them as avan (he) or aval (she), the administrative system would gain the discipline and efficiency of the Indian army.

Since the public ranks above government office workers, if the public addresses and refers to them as nee, avan, or aval in conversations and documents, office workers would respect the public and efficiently complete assigned tasks. They would address the public as sar. In English-speaking nations, government office workers reportedly address the public as Sir or Ma’am.

This is what should happen when the administrative language becomes Malayalam. But none of this is occurring.

No permanent solution can be found in such antics. The reason is that the people speaking feudal languages are the ones becoming government office workers. These people belong to various linguistic and social tiers.

[VED]

My mother became an officer in the Madras Civil Service when part of the Madras Presidency became Madras State. When Malabar was merged with Travancore through a grand deception in 1956 to form Kerala State, she transitioned to the Kerala government service.

This sequence of events gave me insight into three distinct historical experiences:

The Madras Presidency and the emergence of Madras State from it.

Malabar district, part of the Madras Presidency, and its English administrative machinery.

The government system under Travancore’s royal rule and its feudal conventions.

In Travancore, it seems officers did not have elevated seats or platforms.

But there was no need for them. The highest government official was directly appointed by the royal family, typically someone of high caste or family prestige.

Malayalam words, steeped in hierarchy, protected this individual. For instance, a subordinate would not refer to the Commissioner as simply “Commissioner” but as “Commissioner Addeham” (he, honourable).

The term saar (highest you, he / him) was used across the official hierarchy. No one used titles alone; instead, saar was conveniently employed.

The public, lowering themselves, used this convenience to achieve their aims.

Though clerks and officers sat on the same level in chairs of equal height, the public’s direct access to officers was obstructed in various ways.

Typically, a visitor had to deal with the clerk or peon first. This was the custom. Attempting to see the officer directly displeased clerks and peons, who felt bypassed.

The officer’s room was often closed, with a half-door. To see the officer inside, one usually needed the peon’s or clerk’s permission. This bolstered the social status of peons and clerks.

For the officer, a commoner approaching directly felt like a form of degradation. They might harshly tell the visitor, “Go to the section!” This arrangement was entirely absent in Malabar’s English administrative system.

This was the government office system and practice in Travancore.

In Malabar, however, the officer sitting on a chair atop a platform not only encouraged the public to approach directly but also signalled to subordinates that this was a superior officer.

Image Details: The provided image depicts the states formed in South India when India became a nation. These were later restructured into new states based on various vested interests. Madras State itself appears much smaller than the Madras Presidency.

The reason is that in Malabari, subordinates addressed or referred to superiors as ningal (you, equal) or ingal (you, deferential). In return, officers avoided words that degraded. Often, they used English phrases, which harmed no one, as the administrative system operated in the egalitarian language of English.

However, in a system that disregarded family prestige or caste elevation, if an individual sat on a chair in the office, other staff lacked the linguistic codes to discern, “Is it oan (lowest he) or oru (highest he)?”

An elevated platform provided clear directional clarity to the administrative system. This was essential in Malabar’s English governance. Without it, clerks and peons might tell outsiders, “Oan, or ayal (he), or mooppar (elder) is sitting there,” driven by the urge to demean.

The result would be that the officer’s authority wouldn’t be worth a bit of waste paper.