18. About redefining imagination

[VED]

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[VED]

1. On consecrating divinity in a metal idol

2. In the land of the demon

3. The devious ideology of regional language

4. The social benefits of bribe money

5. Dearness allowance and other matters

6. A monthly salary sufficient to live

7. Social reform through foolish tales

8. On economic coding

9. The English administrative system in Malayalam

10. Bank official and shop worker

11. Looking from the demon world to the celestial world

12. The duty of journalism and other professional duties

13. Social positioning of individuals and related matters

14. On imposing filthy languages

15. The phenomenon of distant people becoming closer when language changes

16. The state of standing on quicksand

17. The phenomenon of a deity gaining existence through conceptualization

18. If the English left England

19. If England became like India

20. The frenzied dance of senior officials

21. The alarming nature of trivial jobs

22. Nations built by those without formal education or vast Vedic literary knowledge

23. The confusion in education

24. The lofty goal of primary education

25. Primary training

26. To shoot down the local language

27. Useless education

28. Clownishness outside the circus

29. Symptoms of delusion

30. The disposition to be gained through education

31. On being bitten by Dracula!

32. Preparing for exams aiming for marks

33. A grand scheme to keep people in check

34. Literary history composition

35. The shape of history

36. History gone astray

37. The framework of Indian history

38. History buried beneath the bedrock

39. Where animals become humans

40. Where animals trade with animals

41. On raising humans as animals and animals as humans

42. Becoming English and becoming feudal language speakers

43. Venomous creatures and those of high quality

44. Emotional traits in venomous creatures

45. The dividing line between humans and animals

46. When minds speak directly to minds

47. About Brain Software

48. The ase of the Chinese

49. How the English language shapes imagination

50. Like taming a wild beast

[VED]

In England, government employees were paid less than those in private institutions.

It is uncertain whether this ratio can be maintained going forward. The reason is that England is increasingly filled with foreign language speakers. This writing does not intend to delve into matters related to this now.

Until around 2010, ordinary government employees, private sector workers, and others in England relied on government hospitals and other public institutions for their livelihood.

However, there, among ordinary people, there is no experience of individuals being positioned on different rungs of an Inhi👇 - Ingal👆 ladder. Therefore, people can interact freely, without hierarchy, communicate, and establish personal relationships.

I myself have often had numerous opportunities to talk and engage closely with various people. However, it is not possible to behave freely with others in a way that is understood in English.

The reason is that, beyond the physical appearance of each individual, there exists an invisible yet immensely powerful positioning embedded in word codes. Ignoring this and forming relationships with individuals can lead to significant problems in conversation.

The word Ningal quickly shifts to Saar, Chettan, or Nee.

The reference word Ayaal also quickly shifts to Saar, Chettan, or Avan, on both sides.

The reality is that Indian languages lack a social condition free from this flux of words.

In England, things are not like that. The reason is that English lacks pathways for words to rise upward or fall downward.

In regional languages, whether you like or dislike people, you must approach or distance yourself based on their position on the Inhi👇 - Ingal👆 ladder.

Otherwise, relationships must be established by precisely using word forms that mutually indicate positions to others.

No one with sense would take a person’s goodness or knowledge as a reason for an equal personal relationship in this manner.

In England, even among government officials, there is no experience of individuals being positioned on different rungs of the Inhi👇 - Ingal👆 ladder. Similarly, there is no such issue between private institution owners and their workers.

Such a social condition cannot be imagined from Malayalam.

Likewise, the social mindset in Malayalam cannot be imagined from English.

Many words in English take on a scope of meaning in feudal languages like Malayalam that cannot be conceived from English itself.

This means there exists a physical reality with far greater scope and complexity than what can be seen from English.

For example, in English, there is the word Consecrated. In Malayalam, this can be understood as “made sacred.”

The process of infusing divinity into the deity’s idol within a temple after its construction can be described by this word, it seems.

Through words, touch, and adorning symbolic objects that signify divinity, divinity may be infused into a mere lifeless metal idol.

From an English perspective, this process may seem like mere futility or farce. However, it may be true that an invisible aura is indeed added to the idol consecrated in this manner.

This phenomenon is, in fact, a daily occurrence in the Malayalam language.

Through words, individuals can be elevated or diminished.

The gaze, touch, demeanor, and imagination of a person positioned lower can evoke strong reactions, emotional transfers, mental stress, or even joy in others.

If this individual looks at, touches, or imagines a higher-positioned person with reverence, the effect produced in the higher person differs from what happens if the same individual looks, touches, or imagines them with contempt.

In other words, the experience that comes from thinking Saar is not the same as thinking Nee.

In the 1970s, I believe, when the Chief Justice of the Indian Supreme Court visited England, he fell slightly ill. He was admitted to a government hospital in London. When this news appeared in Indian newspapers, many wrote letters to the papers expressing strong protests.

It seems that the Indian elite could not tolerate that a high-ranking Indian government official was treated in a government hospital in England.

When speaking of English words, terms like Brother, Brotherhood, Sister, Thank you, and Serious take on immense, almost demonic, semantic scope in ominous languages like Malayalam.

Yet, many experience this semantic scope as a kind of unearthly beauty.

It’s like someone, drunk, building a temple in their mind and enjoying a Kavadiaattam dance. But those standing around, sober, see only a wretched individual. That’s the reality.

I cannot write now about this grotesque semantic scope of words.

What I intended to write about here is the lawful monthly salary of Indian government officials. I will aim to address that in the next piece of writing.

[VED]

In the course of writing, some English words came up earlier. I intend to move forward with this writing by incorporating those and another matter.

When translating words, sentences, and ideas from feudal languages to a language with flat word codes, significant changes in semantic scope occur, often unnoticed.

Most government rules and customs in today’s false India appear, at first glance, to be derived from the Indian government systems before 1947. This can lead to the mistaken belief that these matters carry the same meaning and scope as intended back then.

At that time, those matters derived their meaning and scope from the pedestal of an unadulterated English language. However, today, these same matters and their associated words stand on the pedestal of regional feudal languages. To explain this, let’s take a few English words.

First, consider the word Respect. In Malayalam, this can be translated as “bahumanam” (respect). However, in Malayalam, bahumanam is not the same as respect in English. In English, respecting someone or not is merely a state of mind within an individual.

In Malayalam, however, bahumanam entails obligatory expressions of subservience, subservient behavior, and physical demonstrations of deference.

This includes standing up in the presence of the other person, loosening the mundu, tucking it between the legs, and bowing with head lowered. Similarly, addressing someone as Saar, referring to them as Saar, adding Saar after their name, using words like Adheham, Avaru, or Maadam for reference, and allowing the other person to address you as Nee, Than, or Ningal are all part of this.

Once, while discussing something with a government clerk, Ayaal emphasized that people must “respect” their superior officer. This referred to the Malayalam bahumanam, meaning subservience, not the English Respect. In English, a government official is merely a worker in a government office.

In a YouTube video I watched yesterday describing an incident, a police sub-inspector addresses a respectable person over 50 years old as Nee. The inspector also shouts several disrespectful words at this person. Yet, the respectable individual narrating the incident refers to the inspector as Adheham and Saar with great subservience.

This is the semantic scope that Respect acquires in Indian languages. The English word Respect carries no such connotation or scope.

In English, there are the words Brother and Sister. These can be translated as “sahodaran” (brother) and “sahodari” (sister). However, in reality, these words do not remain confined to such limited semantic scope.

The word Brother has two distinct meanings: Chettan and Aniyan. Chettan refers to a person to be respected, while Aniyan refers to a person to be diminished through words. Similarly, Sister carries two opposing meanings—Chechi and Aniyathi—indicating personalities to be maintained at 180° opposite poles.

English speakers are entirely unaware of the demonic nature of categorizing human personality in this way through the words Brother and Sister.

Since long ago, I have had indications that English speakers have no understanding of the invisible chains embedded in the word Brotherhood.

In some old English books, I read about certain Brotherhood movements in some continental European countries. These movements kept individuals on different tiers, subservient to certain elevated personalities.

The information English speakers have about what holds such a collective together is trivial and inadequate. It is indeed difficult to convey in English the invisible chains created through the rise and fall of words.

In English, the phrase Thank you carries a communicative beauty absent in feudal languages like Malayalam. This phrase does not elevate the social position of the recipient in English, nor is there a need for it.

This is because English words do not involve such positioning issues. English-speaking people live on the same level of positioning in their words.

However, in Malayalam, if a low-status person does a favor and receives a Thank you in return, Ayaal might feel cheated, as this useless Thank you offers no practical benefit. Instead, giving some money would help Ayaal elevate their social personality in their own surroundings.

Social positioning in Malayalam clings like a ghostly affliction to both the inner recesses and outer framework of the mind—a terrifying reality.

The English word Sorry is another matter. In English, it is used among people of equal status.

It expresses remorse, guilt, or emotional pain for a wrong action, harm, or pain caused to another, informing the affected person.

In Malayalam, using Sorry conveys “please forgive me.” The understanding it creates in the other person is one of subservience. Immediately, the person hearing Sorry assumes a superior position. The words may shift.

I have witnessed more than once a scene where, right after someone says Sorry, the other person behaves as if they’ve climbed over them. The meaning and sentiment of Sorry in English do not carry over when used in Malayalam communication.

Translating the English word Children into Malayalam also poses issues. It becomes “kuttikal” (children). Using “kutty” (child) in address or reference is inherently diminishing. Words like Nee, Avan, and Aval line up behind “kutty.”

In formal discussions, I’ve seen older, supposedly knowledgeable people use “kutty” to belittle younger individuals and their arguments.

I’ve seen a senseless woman in a formal discussion use “Kutty paranjathu” (what the child said) to imply “what Ningal said” toward a young woman.

Another set of diminishing words in Malayalam is “Mone” and “Mole.” These become diminishing when used by someone who is not the person’s father or mother.

In a national bank branch near Deverkovil, there was a clerk who, at first glance, seemed to have secured the job through significant occupational reservation.

This person would initially address customers under 30 years old entering the bank as Mone or Mole. Once this word was established in communication, the address shifted to Inhi (Nee).

I was once told by someone with minor ties to the Malayalam film industry that the word MoLe (daughter. child when used by others) carries an even broader diminishing meaning.

After selecting a new actress, some high-ranking individuals in film production explicitly ask her for perverse compromises. If the actress refuses, the filmmaker reportedly uses words like:

Mole, this is all part of this business.

This is a social scene where the actress is defined by words like Nee and Aval, while the filmmaker is Saar.

It is also a reality that some teachers use “athu” (it) as a reference for young children.

It’s worth mentioning here that teachers are employed to elevate the mental and personal standards of students. Yet, in languages like Malayalam, addressing students as Nee, Avan, or Aval and diminishing them is seen as part of teaching. In English, there is no such precedent in education.

The discussion of words has gone on longer than intended. So, let’s discuss one more word and conclude today’s writing.

The English word Sir. This word may have been discussed earlier in this writing, so I’ll keep it brief.

In English, Sir is not the same as the Malayalam Saar. However, the word Saar is also used in the sense of the English Sir.

When Saar is used in the sense of Sir, it encroaches on the space of many other words.

Addressing someone as Saar also takes the place of Malayalam words equivalent to the English He, his, him, She, her, and Hers. Moreover, using this word brings Adheham and Avaru into the communication.

A person who is not Saar becomes Ayaal, Avan, or Aval, thus diminished.

These are mesmerizing developments absent in English but found in the land of the demon.

[VED]

In the previous writing, one matter related to respect was overlooked.

When standing before a superior, women were required to express their bahumanam (subservience) by uncovering their bosom, as clearly documented in Native Life in Travancore.

A brief record in it states:

The proper salutation from a female to persons of rank was to uncover the bosom.

Those who uphold the glory of regional culture and language must experience the ways of life at their underbelly.

Cultural leaders, self-proclaimed literary figures, revolutionary thinkers, filmmakers, and others point to the mesmerizing experiences at the surface of these matters, highlighting their supposed enjoyment and beauty.

Now, let’s move to another matter. The monthly income of government employees is the intended topic. But before delving into that, one more point needs addressing.

In a feudal language society, life’s success lies in achieving social elevation by suppressing others through the words of the language.

For this, people constantly seek various means.

One such means is to get close to elevated individuals. I have directly observed and understood the strategies of two different individuals in this regard.

The first was a young man who followed a film producer, performing minor tasks for Ayaal. He listened to the producer’s words and acted as a companion. However, the producer saw Ayaal only as a low-level worker.

Following filmmakers is like constantly being around someone working on a computer. One can quickly learn to operate a computer, as acquiring such skills is quite simple.

Video editing, audio editing, and similar tasks can all be learned by observation.

Similarly, by constantly being in the filmmaker’s workspace, one can quickly grasp various aspects of film production without needing higher education.

Despite this, the producer saw this young man merely as a servant-like worker. Some elevated individuals have made such constant companions their personal assistants, handling their private matters and needs.

What I observed here is that this young man’s flaw was not having anyone under Ayaal in a Nee-Saar relationship.

However, I’ve seen another young man with a similar strategy. No matter the situation, Ayaal first ensures a group of people Ayaal can address as Nee. Among those arranged in this way, there are various levels and Nee-Chettan relationships.

Those addressed as Nee call this person Chettan or Saar. In Hindi-speaking regions, I’ve seen Ayaal quickly become a Saab to those below.

The more Nee-Chettan, Nee-Saar, or Tu-Saab tiers beneath Ayaal, the greater the mental elevation Ayaal achieves.

Ayaal always aimed for political leaders. Often, Ayaal would approach them in an expensive chauffeur-driven car with private registration.

Even when financially strained, Ayaal kept a chauffeur-driven car at a high monthly rent for Ayaal’s office. When I asked if this was foolish, Ayaal said that arriving at the Central Secretariat this way ensured even the pillars there recognized Ayaal came in a chauffeur-driven car.

This relates to another matter involving a transcendental software system, which I won’t delve into now.

The physical reality is that even the pillars recognize Ayaal as a Saab or an influential figure.

When this person approaches political leaders, they perceive Ayaal as a major private leader or movement figure. In their presence, Ayaal issues instructions and commands over the phone to various people, addressing them as Tu or Nee.

If there is only one tier of followers below, Ayaal gains a slight elevation. But as more tiers are added below, Ayaal rises step by step to greater heights.

Imagine just one level below with twenty-one followers; Ayaal would only achieve the social height of a petty thug.

Instead, consider five levels below:

One person directly beneath Ayaal.

Two people beneath that person.

Three people beneath each of them.

Two people beneath each of those.

A total of twenty-one people under Ayaal.

Such an arrangement of people elevates Ayaal to a significant height. The Nee-Saar tiers become clearly noticeable in Ayaal’s personality.

What needs to be said here is that such thinking does not exist in English. No matter how many levels of people are arranged below, the address remains You-You, and references stay He-He, His-His, Him-Him. One does not feel like they’re standing atop Mount Everest.

Consider the two individuals mentioned above.

The first remains stuck in a Nee-Saar relationship under the film producer, who sees Ayaal as a subservient companion or servant.

Political leaders see the second person as a leader running private enterprises.

Both shared a similarity they once told me about.

No matter how elevated a person is, in private settings, everyone has common needs, desires, grievances, and insecurities. In those settings, they need certain people.

Entering such settings is difficult for an outsider. However, those who strive for it may succeed.

This refers to the two different strategies mentioned here.

To plan such matters, one must understand the devious ideology of the regional feudal language.

The first person approached with an innocent English-like demeanor but was positioned within the feudal language’s hierarchy.

Meanwhile, the second person moved with carefully calculated steps.

In reality, this person could be highly dangerous in Ayaal’s own settings. Ayaal may expel or attempt to diminish those who do not show subservience, striking or stabbing from behind.

[VED]

Now, let’s turn to the matter of government employees’ monthly income.

Before that, I’ll recall and share some incidents related to other sources of income for certain government employees.

The first incident dates back to a year just before 2000, as told by the son of a government employee. This woman was a clerk in a government department involved in a major revenue-collection scheme.

Her son clearly told me that Avaru received a share of the large sums of bribe money collected at the office. He mentioned this without any reluctance.

Ayaal framed it as if it were an offering, tribute, or act of devotion given by people for a certain social position.

Our conversation was in English, so I could express my disagreement with Ayaal’s arguments in non-provocative terms.

That’s when I noticed the social coding in what Ayaal said.

Ayaal asked, “Do you know, Ningal, how much a high-quality saree costs?”

Ayaal explained that wearing high-quality clothing and displaying considerable significant social power is necessary to earn people’s Respect. The government salary alone isn’t enough to sustain such a lifestyle.

Here, the Respect Ayaal meant was the Malayalam Malayalamalamalam bahumanam (subservience), not the English Respect. Yet, our conversation was in English, mind you.

This is a visible instance of how feudal language speakers distort the meanings of English words.

Under the English administration, senior officials received very modest salaries and no bribes.

Yet, we must understand that none of them feared the demonic entity of Respect as in Malayalam. It’s clear that this demon holds no value in the presence of refined English.

In the past, in Trivandrum, near the museum, there was a row of government offices called the Revenue Board. I won’t delve into that, as it could derail the discussion.

Once, while visiting that office building, I had a chance to speak with a clerk from the State Excise department, a native of mid-Travancore.

When I addressed Ayaal as Ningal, Ayaal seemed to feel a slight irritation, though Ayaal controlled this considerable provocation with great restraint.

One of Ayaal’s statements was this: By divine grace, getting a job in the Excise department meant there was no shortage of money.

With a touch of exaggeration, I could say that after counterfeit currency, the most profitable industry and trade is liquor production. But I can’t dive into the backstory of that topic now.

About ten years ago, a young acquaintance shared another incident with me.

A friend’s mother was a clerk in the RTO department. Every day, when Avaru returned home from the office, Avaru received a share of that day’s bribe income. Avaru would immediately put it in Avarude handbag without ever counting the amount, it seems.

Upon reaching home, Avaru would place the handbag on the table and go to rest. Then, Avarude son would take a few hundred-rupee notes from the bag and spend them lavishly outside. Avaru had no complaints about this.

Another memory that comes to mind is a story I heard about a sudden raid by a central officer at the customs office in a Kerala airport. The officer was accompanied by a few armed, uniformed security personnel.

Upon entering the office, the officer ordered the security personnel to lock the doors from the inside.

The customs officers inside were visibly panicked, as a high-ranking official with considerable authority was sitting behind the main desk.

The senior officer instructed everyone to sit in the chairs behind the desks lined up in front of Ayaal’s desk, facing Ayaal.

Then, the officer issued a command:

“Each of you, Ningal, place all the money in your pockets on the desk in front of you. If you don’t, I’ll order the security personnel to search your pockets.”

All the customs officers emptied their pockets, placing the amassed cash on their desks. The amounts were reportedly substantial.

Everyone sat holding their breath, gripped by intense fear about what would happen next.

Then, the officer, with a playful smile, said, “You’re all complete fools. If this were a vigilance department raid, you’d all be behind bars.”

“From now on, arrange to keep the money you collect from passengers in a very private place.”

“I staged this drama to make this clear to you.”

A wave of relieved laughter erupted. Everyone realized their senior officer was someone who cared deeply for Avarude subordinates.

This is just a story I heard.

However, a customs officer I know personally told me about a similar scene at a Kerala airport where vigilance officers caught Ayaal and a few other customs officers.

Ayaal said it was a terribly unlucky time. Everyone feared losing their jobs or even going to jail.

But, by divine grace, nothing of the sort happened.

The reason? Government lawyers are the ones who must prove such cases in court. What profit would they gain by sending these poor souls to jail?

It doesn’t take great intelligence to realize that sparing them would bring considerable rewards.

Now, let’s move to the main point.

The money collected as bribes also becomes significant capital for society’s commercial enterprises.

It helps purchase expensive smartphones, high-tech appliances like refrigerators and ACs, overpriced motor vehicles, and more.

In other words, bribe money is one of the factors enabling the production and marketing of many machine-made products unattainable for ordinary people.

Moreover, it sustains establishments like restaurants serving high-priced food and commercial enterprises selling premium clothing.

Additionally, it allows hiring housemaids and gardeners, providing employment and income to others.

Possessing such expensive items and associating with such lavish enterprises helps government employees live at a considerable elevation above those socially considered inferior, showcasing that elevation publicly.

Living at the level of ordinary people is a deplorable thing in the codes of regional languages. This is the core issue here.

Blaming individuals is pointless. Even the most upright person, upon joining most government jobs, will receive a share of bribe money. Refusing it is sheer folly in the demonic ideology of regional languages.

No amount of sword-waving against bribes, grand speeches in public squares, garlanding officers with slippers, or hurling abuses in private whispers will erase the existence of bribe money as a prized commodity in government offices.

The mesmerizing level of monthly salary government employees receive enables them to live far above the deplorable level of ordinary people.

Now, let’s shed some light on this matter.

[VED]

If a person in India earns a monthly income of 30,000 to 40,000 rupees, they should be able to live quite comfortably with their family.

This is because government hospitals, schools, colleges, roads, buses, and other facilities are available everywhere. The only private expenses might be buying clothes, food items, and similar necessities. Even then, many food items are provided at heavily subsidised prices through ration shops.

For those without their own homes, renting a house may be an additional expense.

From an English perspective, the above points may seem like mere trivial economic insights.

However, there is another invisible yet immensely powerful factor present everywhere in India: the phenomenon of linguistic oppression and mesmerising elevation through language.

When individuals interact socially, they require an invisible platform to stand on.

This platform could be their economic status, job position, personal connections, the size of their house, relationships with officials, or their role as an employer—something, or often a combination of these, is essential.

Whether a person is a housemaid, a daily wage labourer, a head-load worker, a peon in a private organisation, a shop assistant, a clerk in a private firm, an employee in a private hospital, a pharmacist in a private hospital, a government peon, a government clerk, a policeman, a sub-inspector, a doctor in a private hospital, a government doctor, an SP, a DIG, or an IAS officer, their occupation forms a robust platform that defines their social standing.

This platform is transformed into a formidable pedestal through the local language.

Each pedestal creates a distinct social image in the mind and in words.

For instance, in India, the term "housemaid" conjures an image of a person entering through the kitchen door, working in the kitchen or other rooms, often sitting on the floor. This person likely wears worn-out or inexpensive clothes. They are typically addressed as "nee" (lowest you) or "aval" (lowest she) by family members, and sometimes, the housewife may even affectionately call them "edi" (pejorative you).

In most parts of India, this housemaid must sit on the floor. They must carefully limit their presence and dare not sit on the chairs used by the household members.

The opposite of the above also exists, but we cannot delve into that now.

Such subtle codifications are embedded in local feudal languages.

Indian feudal languages create a mesmerising phenomenon of social depth and social height.

The English language, however, cannot produce such a phenomenon. In societies with feudal hierarchies, the English language diminishes the sharpness and strength of these distinctions.

The writing seems to be veering off course. Let us return to the matter of government salaries.

I vaguely recall that in 1985, the starting salary for an IAS officer was 600 rupees. That year, I had written the IAS exam, so I likely checked their salary at the time.

It can be assumed that this was a decent salary back then. Today, I understand the starting salary for an IAS officer is 56,100 rupees.

The highest monthly IAS salary appears to range from 250,000 to 300,000 rupees.

In a country where a monthly salary of 40,000 rupees allows for a comfortable life, one must question why such high salaries are paid.

In 1947, the First Pay Commission submitted its report on government employees’ salaries.

Within a decade, the Second Pay Commission was formed, and salaries were increased.

It is easy to guess what happens when government officials are appointed to decide whether government employees’ salaries should be raised. No great intellect is required to see this.

However, the only reason government salaries and Dearness Allowance could not be raised to uncontrolled levels was that the Indian government lacked the funds to do so.

Before 1947, under English rule, Indian officials’ excesses were curtailed because English officials held the highest positions.

It is understood that English officials firmly instilled in the minds of both the public and officials that officials were merely public servants.

This is still seen by many senior officials as a harsh aspect of English rule. They introduced us to the locals as mere public servants, those English scoundrels.

Around the late 1980s or early 1990s, a new technological phenomenon began to spread in Britain and America. At the time, no one there could fully grasp its long-term implications.

However, I had various thoughts about it even then.

This phenomenon was the computer and the internet connected to it. It was clear to me, as a vision, that this would shatter the political and commercial boundaries and foundations of English-speaking nations.

Many jobs in England and America could be done by English-knowing Indians from India.

Moreover, heads of American software companies stepped forward to train Indians to write software languages and operate software applications.

As a result, tens of thousands of jobs from England and America shifted to India.

It is also understood that before 1947, many Indians who directly interacted with the English administration had significant English language proficiency.

Clerical jobs in small-scale positions in the US, paying $4,000 monthly, could be done in India for $500 by many people.

Today, $4,000 equates to 333,270 rupees in Indian currency.

$500 equates to 41,658 rupees in Indian currency.

I intend to revisit this topic later, but for now, let the writing flow.

Around 2000, an acquaintance told me about someone they knew who worked for American companies, making phone calls to American households to inform them about products.

They earned around 75,000 rupees monthly as a sales commission.

Note that I am not certain if even the highest-ranking IAS officer earned 60,000 rupees monthly at that time.

The painful realisation spread among government officials that Indians working in software, back-office, customer service, and other roles for English and American companies were earning salaries that surpassed those of government officials.

They realised that the platform created by language was collapsing. For any government official, falling under the authority of an ordinary Indian is a humiliating state, as they well know.

Moreover, those working for English/American companies had significant English proficiency.

Isn’t that just the cherry on top?

Much earlier, around 1985, a Kerala government officer complained to me with frustration about the high incomes earned by Gulf workers. No matter how much government salaries were raised, they could not compete with Gulf incomes.

This difference is reflected in language.

By the 1990s, the phenomenon of Indians working for English and American companies had spread across India. Many things were entirely new in India.

The concept of customer service itself was likely unimagined in Indian contexts before this.

Even today, customer service in government institutions is seen as the delusional claim of a lunatic.

As billions in foreign income began pouring in from England and America, the Indian government’s coffers started filling with vast revenue.

Government official elites took notice. Their hands were now filled with billions of rupees. All they needed was a law or some scheme to dip into it.

In 1994, the Fifth Central Pay Commission was established. The retirement age for central government employees was raised from 58 to 60. No one protested significantly.

However, the broader recommendation was to reduce the number of government employees by 30 percent. No government would dare implement this.

The reason is that the so-called educated elite, reliant on government jobs, are incapable of doing anything else.

Back then, instead of raising salaries, the Dearness Allowance (DA) was increased. Per the Fifth Central Pay Commission’s recommendation, DA was set at 212% of the basic salary.

This meant a person with a 40,000-rupee monthly salary would receive 84,800 rupees monthly.

This was another way to fool the public. The basic monthly salary would not show a significant figure, but the unnoticed Dearness Allowance, a blatant rip-off, would loom large.

The word count seems to have grown too long. The topic involves tedious calculations, so I’ll stop here. I hope to discuss more in the next piece of writing.

[VED]

Wherever English rule existed, the general policy was to enable local people for self-governance.

This policy seems to have stemmed from the foolish wisdom of England’s leftists. The establishment of nations under English rule in various regions was driven by the locals’ willingness to submit to it.

I won’t delve into that topic now.

From around 1909, democracy was imposed in India, and many insignificant locals rose to prominent positions in governance.

However, oversight remained in the hands of English officials.

There was a flaw in this system. Officials and political leaders in England, ignorant of India’s local realities, often interfered in India’s administration with foolish directives.

On 23ᵗʰ June 1870, a cable was laid under the sea from England to India (Red Sea Line between London and Bombay).

This allowed daily instructions and permissions from England to influence India’s national administration.

Imagining India from England was not feasible.

The two societies were entirely different, with no resemblance.

Yet, this foolish interference led to the absurdity of democracy in India, enabling public speeches against English rule to flourish nationwide.

I’ll stop the words from veering into that topic.

By 1946, India’s governance was largely in the hands of local political leaders.

This shifted the mindset of Indian officials, who gradually came under the influence of Indian political leaders. Additionally, the policy of appointing more Indians to the Indian Civil Service (ICS) in significant proportions was implemented.

Thus, in 1946, the First Pay Commission was established, marking the beginning of a sense of dominance among government officials.

This pertains to India.

Note that in places like Travancore, Mysore, Hyderabad, Punjab, Goa, Pondicherry, Sikkim, and Kashmir, which were not part of India, this Pay Commission was irrelevant.

Even when this Pay Commission was established, its rules and policies were likely controlled by the mindset of English officials. The commission’s policy and goal were to ensure government employees received a living wage—sufficient income to live.

It must be clearly understood that the policy was to ensure workers received the income needed to live in India.

Until recently, the monthly salaries of government employees in England were based on this principle. What will happen there in the future cannot be predicted.

The idea of a government employee receiving a salary to live like a local lord was unthinkable then, as English rule viewed government employees strictly as public servants.

English officials likely saw no issue with this mindset. In England, the word “servant” does not carry the same connotation as a housemaid in India.

In India, a servant is addressed as “nee” (lowest you), referred to as “avan” (lowest he) or “aval” (lowest she), and sometimes even “eda” or “edi” (pejorative you).

A worker must display subservience.

This reality was incomprehensible to officials in England.

When the new nation was formed in 1947, the mindset of officials began to change. They were now under local petty leaders with no understanding of English cultural values.

These petty leaders lacked a clear policy towards officials.

When out of power, they viewed officials as pawns of the ruling party. When in power, they became puppets of the officials.

How the administrative machinery operates in this country is a matter of great wonder, akin to pondering who created the world, the sun, the moon, and the orbiting Earth.

At the administrative centre is the Secretariat, housing various secretaries—a term that may be hard for many to grasp.

Hundreds of government offices exist in districts, taluks, and villages, all staffed with officials arranged in a clear hierarchical structure.

One might wonder who created this system. Some may boast of the Indian intellect, while others might claim in textbooks that ancient Indian sages devised this intricate web thousands of years ago, and people would parrot that narrative.

The reality, however, is different. The administrative system in India until 1947 was painstakingly developed by English East India Company officials through hundreds of small steps.

Yet, this system required communication with ordinary people who spoke English. As long as this system persisted, the officials’ identity as public servants posed no issue.

In English, the word “servant” does not negatively impact other terms.

However, problems arise when the national language shifts from English to local feudal languages.

If an employer unties their waistcloth, bows, clasps hands, and addresses a worker as “saar” or “maadam” (highest you/she), the worker is unlikely to perform efficiently or punctually.

In the new nation of India, created in 1947, ordinary citizens were expected to display the subservience of an employer toward officials, as mentioned above.

Officials are not workers but social elites in this new nation. This condition is created and sustained by local feudal languages.

There is no point in blaming individuals for this.

The point here is that the First Pay Commission, established in 1946, aimed to ensure government employees received a monthly income sufficient to live.

After 1947, this aim gradually shifted. This shift aligned with the growing recognition of local feudal languages in the official, administrative, and educational spheres.

The notion of government officials as public servants was almost entirely erased, replaced by the term “government servants.”

Officials began to believe they were the government itself. This belief was reinforced by schools teaching in local languages.

Teachers, tasked with elevating students, address them as “nee” (lowest you).

Pay commissions were periodically formed in the new nation.

From the Second Pay Commission onward, their purpose likely began to change.

It was no longer enough to provide officials with a living wage; they needed a salary to secure social status and dominance.

Consequently, the pension scam for officials likely shifted to this mindset. When government service ends, officials face a sudden loss of authority and social standing.

In a year just before 2000, I overheard a member of a government pensioners’ organisation speaking to Mrs. CPS.

They said,

We must receive a pension that maintains the social status we had during service. Our organisation must fight for this.

The status of government officials in today’s India is not the same as during English rule. Back then, the “Dying in Harness” provision was designed considering the modest salaries and lack of corruption among government employees.

If an official died suddenly, their family would lack the financial means to sustain themselves. The local language, meanwhile, is a demonic force that crushes those without money.

[VED]

To explain the pre-1947 Indian policy of a monthly salary sufficient for officials to live, we must first discuss the social relationships in England from about a decade earlier.

Before delving into that, let me address a few other matters.

In some years during the 1990s, Kerala’s Chief Minister was a revolutionary party leader.

I noticed then that Dearness Allowance (DA) for officials was periodically increased. Some officials jokingly remarked that this was due to the personal interest of this leader.

In reality, this was likely not a political decision but one taken by officials to protect their own interests.

Around the same time, this revolutionary leader visited America and subsequently sent his son to that despised capitalist nation.

Many countries are capitalist, so why send his son specifically to a hated English-speaking nation? That’s worth pondering.

I recall that in 1982, when Mrs. CPS was IG of Registration, this same leader was Kerala’s Chief Minister. He visited Russia for a banquet and, upon returning, hosted a lavish dinner for a high-ranking Russian delegation at Trivandrum’s multi-star Mascot Hotel.

Senior Kerala officials were invited to this evening banquet, including Mrs. CPS, who attended. It was her first time at a five-star dinner event.

When Mrs. CPS returned home, she was mentally exhilarated.

A thought struck me then: how could a communist, hardcore revolutionary Chief Minister conceive of hosting such a capitalist-style multi-star banquet?

Back then, concepts like communism and revolution didn’t seem as they do today. Now, communism appears to have evolved into a state barely distinguishable from capitalism.

Note that both capitalism and revolution are alien to an English social atmosphere.

Mentioning this Chief Minister brings another memory. It was during his tenure that Trivandrum saw its first Onam celebration event.

This multi-day event featured various government-organised activities.

An open auditorium at the museum screened old Malayalam films at night. I went and rewatched Chemmeen.

Dramas and other cultural programmes were held at indoor venues. I don’t know how entry to these was arranged.

However, senior officials received numerous VIP passes. Some likely trickled down to lower-level office staff, though I’m not certain.

Mrs. CPS received many VIP passes, some of which her children used to attend cultural events.

Police escorted VIP pass holders to the best seats.

One drama I saw was KPAC’s Mudiyanaya Puthran.

It was a baseless story, oblivious to the subtle linguistic forces shaping social realities.

Vaguely, I recall it depicted a romance between the spoilt, handsome son of a high-caste feudal landlord and a stunningly beautiful, dark-skinned, teenage slave-caste girl.

The audience’s eyes may have teared up, witnessing the intense emotional anguish of the beautiful slave-caste girl.

Those shedding tears beside me were likely senior officials and their families.

The absurdity lies in believing such melodramatic plays and films drove social reform.

Another memory tied to this Onam celebration: the Chief Minister, a revolutionary leader from Cannanore, belonged to a lower rung of the high-caste community.

His tenure introduced Trivandrum to the outward cultural hues of Malabar, especially northern Malabar.

Spiritual performance arts like Theyyam, Thira, Aattam, Thullal, and Vellattam from northern Malabar were showcased in Trivandrum’s streets during the Onam procession on the final day.

This led Trivandrum residents to perceive Malabar as a land of wild, tribal people.

Looking back, Trivandrum residents seemed unaware of their own history. I’ll clarify that later.

Extracting Malabar’s Theyyam, Thira, Aattam, Thullal, and Vellattam from their spiritual context and parading them in a social revolutionary procession—what would people understand from this?

Yet, people believed the Onam procession gifted them profound historical insights about Malabar.

Not a single kind word was heard about the English East India Company, a pivotal figure in Malabar’s history.

The words have clearly run wild. Let’s return to the writing’s path.

By the 1990s, the realisation that workers in American companies earned vast incomes dawned on Indian officials like a daytime nightmare.

A group with tenfold the capability, English proficiency, personality, and communication skills of Indian officials emerged as a distinct, organised entity.

In each aspect—capability, English proficiency, personality, and communication—Indian officials lagged behind this new group.

Until then, these individuals were scattered across India, isolated and weak. Now, they were forming a collective.

Some lived almost entirely in English.

Others alternated between local languages and English, causing slight discomfort to others in both spheres. I won’t delve into that now.

Workers in call centres set up by English and American companies in India earned 20,000 rupees or more in the 1990s and post-2000 years.

The thought that senior government officials’ dominance might end began to surface.

However, one overlooked fact: call centre workers were a tiny fraction of India’s total workforce.

Other workers’ wages hadn’t increased.

Generally, Indian officials’ salaries were far higher than the average Indian worker’s even then.

Indian officials should compare their salaries to the average Indian worker’s wage, not to wages paid by foreign companies to Indian workers.

Basing Indian government officials’ salaries on foreign companies’ wages isn’t just foolish—it’s a scam.

Sometime after 2000, an Indian academic told me online that Indian professors received paltry salaries from the Indian government. He cited the amount paid in England in British currency.

Converted to Indian rupees, it was a huge sum.

He omitted that in England, housemaids, taxi drivers, agricultural workers, and others earned similarly large sums in Indian rupees.

Indian officials pretended not to see other workers’ incomes here and abroad when deciding to revise their own salary scales.

The words are stretching too long. I’ll continue in the next piece.

I should also address how people use various ideologies to rally others under their leadership.

That, too, can be covered in the next piece.

[VED]

It is difficult to conceive in Indian feudal languages that officials, or those working in government offices, are ordinary people.

The essence of this lies deep within the hidden compartments of linguistic codes.

It works like this:

Indian feudal languages categorise people in conversations as either the supreme "unnathan" (highest he/she) or the worthless "keezhalan" (lowest he/she).

This fosters a competitive mindset and an urge to suppress others. If those assigning work lack clear control, feudal language words subtly urge the worker to transform their responsibility into authority.

If entrusted with government work, neglecting it and troubling others becomes a form of power.

Ordinary people, themselves competitive, grovel before those entrusted with work, pleading to get tasks done.

This is because they compete directly with peers in linguistic terms, not with their workers.

A person assigned public work automatically rises to great heights in linguistic terms.

This must reflect in their income level.

However, if all workers received the same income, the nation and society’s functions would halt—a fact any academic genius or street vendor with tenfold experiential wisdom can easily demonstrate.

Small-scale workers are keenly aware that their familiar elites must possess vast economic resources. Only then can they rely on those resources to sustain their own lives.

This national economic picture is a view within the crucible of the nation’s language.

In contrast, English-speaking nations had an opposite social-economic picture.

America was a region wrested from England’s grasp by organised continental Europeans. That story can’t be explored now.

The US was built on a network of numerous English immigrant settlements.

Thus, the US was founded on a community of English speakers, making it impossible to ignore or eliminate the English language.

Language itself is social culture.

Having said this, let me present just one page of the social picture in the United States up to just before 2000.

This is about ordinary workers.

When a person reaches working age, it’s certain they will take up some job.

Some jobs require skills; others don’t.

In English, there’s no distinction between a job valued or demeaned by words. Thus, anyone is willing to take any job if needed.

Whatever job one gets, they can buy a house. Real Estate House Building companies provide the house, and banks provide the funds.

The loan is repaid over years with modest instalments.

Beautiful, shiny houses with small yards and green lawns. No high walls between houses or bars on windows.

If a house needs repairs, the Real Estate House Building company is informed. They send workers to fix it, and the cost may sometimes be added to the instalments.

Alternatively, repairs can be done at one’s own expense.

The worker sent for repairs, unlike in India, isn’t treated as a lowly labourer entering an elite’s home, as English doesn’t permit such a demeanour.

Conversations use “you-you,” “he-he,” “she-she,” often just names or “Mr.” before names.

This conversational dynamic exists in India to a small extent, mainly among workers. However, age introduces hierarchy in personal interactions here.

Moreover, language defines these workers as a specific social level. I can’t delve into that now.

The core of American society was shaped by such English word codes in social relationships.

For decades, numerous banks in America operated profitably this way. Often, all a person needed for a home loan was an American citizen ID card.

From the 1990s, the economic foundation of ordinary Americans began to crumble. Jobs rapidly moved to foreign countries, facilitated by the internet.

Thousands of workers lost jobs. The American citizen ID card lost value in this context.

The mindset of American capitalists began to shift. Many were newcomers who gained citizenship.

For most, English was a second language. In their native languages, a worker was merely “avan” (lowest he), “aval” (lowest she).

Many American banks went bust.

Around 1998, I discussed this with the manager of a private bank’s Calicut branch, speaking in English. He clearly expressed his banking expertise, stating that American banks lacked sense, giving home loans to anyone without proper security.

Until the 1990s, American citizenship was a significant national security. It was the capitalists there who undermined it.

That this massive scam went undetected by America’s academic geniuses, like college professors, points to their uselessness.

Over the past two decades, the number of defunct banks in America is evident in available data. This phenomenon began in the late 1990s.

The term “foreclosed home” became common in American newspapers, referring to houses repossessed by banks due to missed payments.

Thousands of homes were seized this way.

Many individuals ended up in homeless shelters or living in their vehicles.

However, since English lacks the phenomenon of reducing a penniless person to “avan,” “aval,” “nee,” “eda,” or “edi,” a poor person didn’t feel like India’s destitute.

This seems to be changing, as Indians and others demean them in their native languages.

No weapon or tool was available to Americans to detect or counter this subtle software attack (conspiracy).

For India’s poor, the lack of money isn’t the only issue; they are demeaned by words and considered ill-omened in many places.

Britain is different. Social Security exists, providing a small sum to the unemployed or those unwilling to work.

Indians might ask why people work then. For many Indians, working under another Indian is humiliating.

In England, working under another Englishman isn’t necessarily degrading.

In a 2004 online discussion, I learned that people there prefer jobs over entrepreneurship.

The reluctance toward entrepreneurship is absent among Indians entering England, so their influx was encouraged, per one side of the discussion.

The perception among outsiders is that the English lack competitive spirit.

The underlying coding is that English words don’t create significant distinctions between those with or without workers.

[VED]

Government office workers genuinely need only a modest monthly salary. This is because India’s government today selects individuals with the lowest mental calibre for service.

There’s an inherent ambivalence here.

Even those with high mental calibre deliberately adopt lower-grade knowledge and attitudes to succeed in government recruitment exams.

Counting money, receiving, and disbursing it in a bank requires no exceptional mental ability.

This happens daily in grocery shops, where owners and staff handle numerous items.

Most government offices function similarly.

Mrs. CPS joined as a Sub-Registrar at 23. The work she did was manageable by most, thanks to the precise procedures set by English rule before abandoning British Malabar.

Even a donkey in the Sub-Registrar’s chair could ensure registrations happened.

If so, why did English rule introduce competitive exams for selecting such officers?

Line up people, make them run a three-kilometre race, select the fastest, train them, and appoint them as officers—government offices would still function.

Notably, when English rule began selecting officials through competitive exams in this subcontinent, a new breed of intellectual monsters emerged.

These were individuals adept at studying and passing competitive exams. Many might have had skills or talents for other pursuits, as most people do.

Yet, ignoring these, a new notion arose that those passing competitive exams were the intelligent ones.

Today, even greater intellectual geniuses have emerged—multiple-choice exam monsters. More on that later.

Before English rule, officials in South Asian kingdoms were appointed based on family ties and loyalty to the king.

Each indulged in corruption and nepotism within their authority.

Those selected through competitive exams in today’s India are no different from this group.

Recall that in those times, there were no digital technology, motor vehicles with two, three, four, six, or eight wheels, trains, planes, internet, or cinema.

Through English education, English rule brought remarkable changes in the mindset of a small percentage of locals. From this group, officers were selected for English administration.

Two reasons likely explain why clerks weren’t similarly selected.

First, there weren’t enough locals proficient in English for clerical roles.

Second, to display social awareness, landlords running schools funded by the government deliberately stifled English proficiency in education. Such graduates aimed for government clerical jobs.

Moreover, these individuals only understood matters in local languages when visiting government offices.

An officer cadre communicating in English was a marvel in South Asian society.

One aspect was that English-knowing citizens could interact with them without subservience, present arguments, and discuss matters.

More impressively, if an officer couldn’t personally address a citizen’s query or task, they could consult a subordinate or superior officer to resolve it.

Only experience reveals the value of this.

Before 2000, I frequently visited government offices. If I asked a clerk about a government matter and they didn’t know the answer, they’d give a vague response without admitting ignorance.

I’ve observed communication among employees in English-speaking countries’ companies, sometimes remotely. Unbound by hierarchical fences, they ask, discuss, clarify, and successfully delegate tasks to capable colleagues.

This efficiency brings them great satisfaction.

Indian government officials rarely achieve this. They believe simplifying tasks for citizens devalues themselves and the government.

Only by creating hurdles can they extract value and subservience.

Now, onto another matter.

British Malabar had an administrative system rooted in English.

Travancore likely had one rooted in Malayalam.

However, as Travancore’s government borrowed officers from British India on deputation, English likely persisted among its higher echelons.

The point is that Malayalam is ill-suited for the order, structure, and discipline of an English administrative system.

Historically, local languages governed administrative systems in Malabar and Travancore kingdoms.

In such languages, official positions likely emphasised two factors.

First, familial social positioning. A high-caste individual would occupy elite posts; a low-status one, lower roles.

This is the most comfortable arrangement in these languages, naturally fostering obedience and cooperation.

Second, age.

In any position, older individuals held greater authority, easing communication and maintaining discipline and efficiency.

Both factors allowed senior officials to move freely among subordinates, overseeing tasks in a natural setting.

The word “ni” (lowest you) enforces strict discipline in such contexts.

However, the English administrative system in Malabar lacked this natural communication structure.

Officials were appointed regardless of family prestige or age, which benefits an English-based system.

In a Malayalam-based system, this creates significant issues. If someone without familial prestige or age seniority is in charge, they may hesitate to leave their office without elaborate arrangements.

Moreover, an older subordinate faces barriers in casually approaching a younger superior. Everyone remains hyper-aware of their position, age, prestige, or lack thereof.

Yet, this causes no major issues for them, as they’re there for the hefty salary and benefits at month’s end.

The public suffers. Caught in officials’ contradictory hierarchical tussles, their matters face delays and inefficiencies.

Some officials may feel unease seeing public struggles, but all must hold their positions.

The point is that India’s current administrative system is the one designed by the English through competitive exams. But it now operates in languages like Malayalam.

This is the problem.

For efficiency in a Malayalam-based system, appointments may need to consider family prestige and age.

Otherwise, things still function.

Officials amass wealth. Their children flee to English-speaking nations. They spread YouTube videos claiming the English looted this land.

A vast percentage of people here live in hell.

[VED]

Let’s delve further into how official systems in local kingdoms operated through feudal languages over time, and how they maintained obedience and discipline in ways unimaginable to English-based administrative systems.

About ten years ago, a police Sub-Inspector visited my home with another officer. Initially, their tone was stern, but it gradually softened.

The Inspector asked why I harboured such strong opposition to Malayalam.

I believe I provided a fitting explanation.

During the conversation, I asked where the Inspector lived. He resided in a lodge near the police station.

I inquired if he mingled with other lodge residents.

I didn’t address the Inspector as “ningal” (you, respectful). Instead, I used “Inspector” in place of “you,” which I note here.

He replied that casually chatting with others was impossible—it would create significant issues.

This Inspector works in a police department, designed by English speakers blending local languages and English.

Today, it operates almost entirely in Malayalam; the Malabari dialect has nearly vanished.

This officer cannot simply roam the streets and speak domineeringly to socially weaker individuals.

To understand why, compare this to Travancore’s local police system, led by Nair overlords.

A Nair overlord could stride into any lower-caste group, use names, “ni” (lowest you), or “avan” (lowest he), converse, question, instruct, and act as their leader.

He was their direct overseer.

This isn’t possible for modern senior officials because their system doesn’t view them as overlords, a result of English linguistic influence.

If this “English colonial” influence were fully erased from officials’ minds, they could address anyone on the streets as “ni,” overcoming their reluctance to leave their offices.

However, this requires official appointments to fully embody Malayalam’s ethos.

Senior officials must come from elite families, join young, and rise as an “elder brother” to new recruits, revered as a great elder, their wife as a grand lady.

Lower-tier officials should come from modestly lower-status households, seen as lesser lords and their wives as lesser ladies.

Ordinary citizens shouldn’t be allowed government jobs. Permitting this could hinder public obedience, disrupting social discipline, which must be avoided.

If the government system fully adopts Malayalam, the social discipline and obedience of pre-English Malabar kingdoms would return.

Each official level would have younger individuals below and older ones above, creating Malayalam’s most comfortable atmosphere.

Yet, in today’s government departments, age and position often silently clash.

Now, let’s revisit comparing a bank clerk and a grocery shop worker.

Both handle counting, receiving, and disbursing money. A busy shop worker often juggles complex tasks: unloading, arranging, pricing, packing, calculating, collecting payments, and giving change. This work holds no social value.

Yet, everyone assumes the bank clerk possesses superior intellect and personality—a widely observed notion.

In England, this phenomenon didn’t exist. Why, then, does India display this contrasting personality image?

In today’s India, bank employees earn tenfold the monthly income of shop workers.

Bank superiors don’t formally address subordinates as “ni” or refer to them as “avan.”

Customers don’t address bank employees as “ni” or “avan” but often use “sir” for both address and reference. “Ni” or “avan” are unlikely.

Conversely, bank employees rarely address or refer to customers as “sir.”

In England, a bank employee might use “Sir” for a customer, but this doesn’t alter the use of “you,” “he,” or “she.”

In India, shop workers aren’t addressed as “sir” by customers. These low-paid, hard-working individuals are often called “ni.”

Sometimes “ningal” (you, respectful) is used.

In Malabar, they might be referred to as “on” or “cheukkan”; in Travancore, “avan,” “payyan,” or “cherukkan” if young.

“Ayal” (he) might be used, but “adheham” (he, respectful), “sir,” or “or” (he, Malabar respectful) are avoided, as customers fear demeaning themselves.

Respect depends on the person!

The mind whispers: raise the salary of the respected (subserviently treated); lower it for the demeaned.

Thus, shop workers are somewhat dangerous.

Without clear superiority, they may try to suppress others verbally if given a chance. Indian feudal languages instill a predatory beast’s mindset, evoking fear akin to a wild animal toward lower-tier individuals.

This notes the attitudinal difference between government officials and ordinary Indian workers. Yet, no one desires personality growth in ordinary workers—a stark reality.

If a lower-tier person grows mentally, it creates a distasteful situation in feudal languages.

Personal relations in feudal languages differ vastly from English.

The highest affection, respect, and obedience define the “ni-ang” (lowest you-highest you) bond.

The elite holds great affection for the subordinate, which persists only if the subordinate remains below.

If the subordinate rises, the “ni-ang” bond dissolves. Even “chetan” (elder brother) calls may vanish. Untying the waistcloth ends, replaced by neatly folding it.

In languages like Malayalam, a person’s value is a constant inquiry—a headache absent in English.

[VED]

The previous writing discussed the mental distortions that local feudal languages induce in government employees who earn high salaries.

Now, let’s explore a related matter: the mental shifts that occur when an ordinary person becomes a private-sector employee in the social atmosphere of a local feudal language.

In English, everyone operates within the same unyielding framework of "you, your, yours, he, his, him, she, her, hers," making the social dynamics vastly different.

To illustrate the local feudal language atmosphere, let me share an observed social setting.

In various parts of Kerala, I’ve visited Sales & Service centres in rural areas to repair my two-wheeler and, previously, four-wheelers. The atmosphere there reveals that technicians are positioned at the lowest rung.

Often, multiple layers of people rank above them. These superiors address technicians as "ni" (lowest you). Some technicians retort with "ni," but generally, they occupy the bottom of the "inji-ingal" (lowest you-highest you) hierarchy.

These technicians possess the necessary job skills. However, the low-status words used to address them shape their mental state. Discussing matters solely based on their expertise risks the customer sinking to their perceived mental level in linguistic terms.

To avoid this, one strategy is to address them as "ni" during discussions. Successfully maintaining a "ni-sir" dynamic can preserve the customer’s perceived mental superiority.

However, this approach may depress the technician’s mental state, potentially affecting the quality of their technical advice.

For instance, the customer might think, “Is this guy trying to lecture me?” Meanwhile, the technician, placed in the "ni" status, may doubt their ability to offer high-level advice to a superior.

Only someone linguistically positioned as a "guru" can adopt a mentor’s demeanour. A worker acting as a guru from a low status may seem intolerably presumptuous to others.

If the employee addresses the customer as "sir," "chetan" (elder brother), "madam," or "chechi" (elder sister), it can somewhat diffuse the confrontational tone in feudal languages.

Recall that such issues don’t exist in English.

In English, someone teaching, advising, or directing doesn’t become a "guru," which is understandable.

Given this, I prefer taking vehicles for repairs to small, independent roadside workshops.

There, I can often speak directly with the workshop owner, who is also a technician. This person rarely displays subservience or dominance. Their vehicle-related advice lacks the demeanour of a subordinate; instead, it carries the aura of someone commanding the workshop’s prestige.

Other technicians working under them may slightly reflect the "inji-ingal" hierarchy, just below the owner, within the workshop.

In English-speaking countries, local shops show little linguistic hierarchy between employees and owners.

Thus, a customer interacting closely with a shop employee is unlikely to feel they’ve bonded with a subordinate.

In Indian feudal language regions, however, befriending an employee in a commercial establishment may give higher-ups the impression that the customer has fraternised with a subordinate.

To avoid this, some customers maintain a distant demeanour when dealing with employees.

Meanwhile, in private hospitals, medical labs, and driving schools, lower-tier employees often address customers by their first names.

This might be mistaken for an English-like attitude. In English, however, employees addressing superiors by name still use "you, he, she" consistently.

In Malayalam and similar languages, employees placed in "ni," "avan," or "aval" status call customers by name, sometimes offering grand healthcare advice to gain personal fulfillment.

The aim here is to highlight the personality of private-sector employees in local feudal languages, not in English settings.

In feudal languages, employees face towering linguistic heights above them.

In the English world, no such heights loom over individuals.

Justifying India’s crude behaviours by comparing them to England is pointless. English represents a celestial world unimaginable in Malayalam.

Having covered this, let’s next define the boundaries of government officials’ salaries. That can be addressed in the next piece.

[VED]

Before discussing the salaries of Indian government officials, I’d like to address a significant change that English language influence brings to interpersonal communication in local languages.

In traditional English in England, formal conversations mandated the use of "Mr.," "Mrs.," and "Miss." However, in the U.S., as people from various linguistic backgrounds adopted English as a learned language, the necessity of these titles became less clear.

These individuals were accustomed to using honorifics in their native languages to denote great deference. Upon entering an English-speaking social environment, they often shifted to a mindset of inflated self-importance.

Consequently, using "Mr.," "Mrs.," or "Miss" began to feel like self-degradation to them.

I won’t delve deeper into this now.

Since around 2000, a trend has emerged in India where commercial sales conversations, online correspondence, and phone calls by representatives of businesses increasingly use just first names.

Let’s explore some broader implications of this development.

First, some commercial companies maintain a high-level English atmosphere internally. Employees communicate in English among themselves and with superiors, using only first names.

When these employees interact with customers via online letters or phone calls, they address them by first names as well.

This means they apply the same communication coding used with their employers to customers.

In such cases, a business employee addressing a customer by their first name doesn’t cause the customer to feel demeaned.

However, seeing the mental elevation displayed by employees in these English-based companies, employees in other businesses soon adopted similar practices.

But here, the dynamics differ significantly.

Their office environment operates in Hindi, Tamil, Malayalam, Kannada, Telugu, or other local languages.

In these settings, employers place employees in a "ni" (lowest you) status and use grand honorifics after their names in all contexts.

Thus, these employees are positioned at a lower rung in their workplace.

There’s a profound difference in the design of transcendental software codes between employees in English-based companies and those in local language environments.

In a local language setting, an employee addressing a customer by their first name is an act of insult and degradation in these languages.

Moreover, customers can sense and experience this degradation, even from a distance.

Having written this much, I’d like to briefly connect this to the concept of social education.

I had planned to write extensively on social education, so I won’t delve into its depths now.

Here, I’ll link this only to news media workers, or journalists.

Until the 1990s, India distinguished between English journalists and local language journalists.

Back then, English journalists often viewed local language journalists with disdain, calling them "vernacular newspaper correspondents." I’ve heard some English journalists describe their local counterparts as akin to riffraff.

However, by around 2010, these two groups began converging, working as equals on the same platforms.

Before 2012, I visited an English newspaper office in Cochin to discuss my writ petition against mandatory Malayalam education. The journalists there explicitly preferred speaking in Malayalam.

These were English journalists, mind you. Times had changed!

I’m unsure if they thought I’d get trapped in the "sir-ningal" coding of Malayalam.

In reality, they are merely employees of a commercial newspaper business, not its owners or top management.

Claims that journalism’s duty is superior to other professions’ duties lack substance.

Can we say journalism’s duty surpasses that of a coconut climber, carpenter, mason, or computer technician?

Every profession has duties like honesty, not deceiving or harming customers, and providing necessary warnings.

Not stealing expensive parts from a laptop is part of a computer technician’s duty, just as honesty is journalism’s duty.

Among computer technicians, some speak English, others don’t.

Here, I’m highlighting how journalists exploit the communicative freedom of local languages.

Not just journalists—anyone in a local feudal language who gains slight dominance expresses it through language.

In the early 1980s, during my college days in Trivandrum, professors and college staff addressed students as "ningal" (you, respectful). Some used "than" (you, neutral).

Only one professor, experienced in teaching in Malabar, addressed students as "ni" (lowest you). I never experienced this myself.

Once, I politely discussed a matter with a Malayalam newspaper representative. He addressed me as "mone" (son) and "ni."

It felt like I was dealing with riffraff.

This was because I occasionally spoke with English journalists, and such interactions never left that impression.

Yet, the nation, state, and people were gradually sinking into a riffraff-like state.

Each year, those with no connection to English rule began defining and viewing it from this riffraff perspective, finding great joy in it.

Today, journalists are termed media workers.

I observed a person who worked as a sub-editor at a prominent Malayalam newspaper and later at an English newspaper in the Gulf.

(Sub-editors are among the lowest-tier writing staff in newspapers.)

When speaking in English with prominent businessmen or other social elites, he addressed them with or without "Mr." before their names.

However, when speaking in Malayalam or English with his workplace superiors, he addressed them as "sir." They, in turn, addressed him as "ni."

There’s an issue when someone positioned as "ni" in their workplace addresses a high-ranking person from another organization by their first name.

This dynamic is sometimes visible on YouTube today.

Young journalists, often positioned in their newsrooms with first names, "ni," "avan," or "aval," address local political leaders by their first names or with "Shri" prefixed, evoking a sense of scaling a mountain through cunning.

In English-speaking countries, journalists addressing political leaders with "Mr." or "Mrs." operate on a flat linguistic plane, unlike Indian journalists.

The notion that "Shri," "Shrimati," or "Kumari" are translations of "Mr.," "Mrs.," or "Miss" exists. I’ve seen a government website implying "Kumari" translates to "Miss."

In reality, I doubt "Shri," "Shrimati," or "Kumari" (or "Kumar"?) were used historically in Malayalam or Malabari.

In English, students address teachers with "Mr." before their names.

Would a Kerala student address Parameswaran Sir or Parameswaran Mash as "Shri Parameswaran"?

Would an ordinary person enter a police station and address Inspector Sudhakaran as "Shri Sudhakaran"?

If these don’t happen, why do journalists address political leaders with honorifics unused elsewhere in society?

Implementing English conventions requires only the presence of English and the absence of local feudal languages.

Not verbose expressions deemed presumptuous in local languages.

A past mental phenomenon among local language journalists was claiming familiarity with elites after brief interactions, boasting of addressing them by name.

Addressing an elite by their first name or with "Shri" fosters a sense of superiority over ordinary people.

Yet, if an ordinary person addresses such a journalist as "ningal," they react with disdain, unable to tolerate it.

Recently, I saw criticism of a Malayalam media editor addressing their employer as "chetan" (elder brother) during an inauguration interview, with "chetan" deemed derogatory.

Is there no limit to such folly?

In Malayalam, a "chetan-ningal" or "chetan-ni" bond between employer and employee is natural. Would any employee dare address their employer with "Shri" anywhere?

Or do media workers enjoy exclusive linguistic freedoms?

Claiming crude behavior in Malayalam reflects high professionalism reveals either Malayalam’s or journalists’ mental bankruptcy.

Next, let’s discuss social positioning. That can be in the next piece.

[VED]

Today, I intend to write about the social positioning of individuals.

In English, various forms of social positioning exist among individuals. However, that’s not the focus of this piece.

In feudal languages, individuals are positioned in ways unimaginable in English. This writing aims to navigate some peripheral aspects of this topic.

As I begin this piece, I experience the familiar sensation of thoughts, information, memories, and feelings bubbling up like foam, forming waves in my mind. Yet, I’m plagued by uncertainty about how to extract the right details from the depths of my mind for today’s endeavor, a nagging concern that lingers.

In an English social atmosphere, purely from a linguistic perspective, individuals don’t require an external framework to meet, communicate, or sustain long-term interactions.

In feudal languages, however, a framework—whether from an organization, workplace, or another structure—is essential for conversations, introductions, or relationships. The specific rung or link where individuals are positioned within this framework significantly influences the choice of words.

Ignoring this caution and attempting to connect, befriend, or debate can lead to painful verbal exchanges.

In English, the concept of equality among individuals isn’t something consciously deliberated. I’m not referring to England but to unadulterated English as a language.

Even contemplating equality in English bears no resemblance to the same concept in feudal languages.

About two decades ago, an acquaintance running a major business in a Hindi-speaking region shared an observation at a social organization’s venue.

His office boasted a modern setup, yet everyone spoke Hindi.

The peon and the business owner shared a "tu-aap" (lowest you-highest you) relationship, but the peon wasn’t overtly demeaned. He would sit in the chair before the owner’s desk and converse.

Managing this dynamic was a headache for the owner. Visitors, often elites from other platforms, interacted with the peon, who would exchange pleasantries with them.

One might wonder what’s wrong with pleasantries. But behind this physical scene, Hindi’s words operate invisibly.

A lower-positioned individual can quickly interact as an equal with visiting elites. If the peon addresses them as "aap," they may reciprocate, or even use "tu" without issue.

Here, a software function absent in English operates. The subordinate experiences a mental sensation of escaping a fenced enclosure.

Feudal languages advise against fostering such a sensation in subordinates. Breaching the fence may make it challenging to curb their onward trajectory.

If they advance, their words may scatter like bombs.

Years ago, when I ran a business, I took care to introduce and seat an accompanying employee at nearly the same level during long-distance business trips.

I was unaware of the discomfort this caused in the establishments we visited. Later, this employee started a similar business with other investors.

A distant businessman told me, “I can’t tolerate you bringing your driver or others to sit before me. Recently, he came here with others to establish business ties, but I didn’t encourage it. Doing so would disrupt my own employees’ obedience and loyalty.”

A subtle coding, not fully clarified here, exists. When a person’s positioning shifts, the direction of the "sir-ni" relationship and word placement undergo significant changes.

This is a profound mental phenomenon absent in English.

In the "sir-ni" dynamic, individuals positioned as "ni" now harbor a drive absent in earlier times: to leap from the "ni" status to the "sir" status.

This isn’t merely an ambition to rise but also a desire to escape the "ni" position.

In the past, people were confined within caste-based fences, with no path to rise or escape.

In feudal languages, individuals have a clear linguistic positioning. If others fail to recognize this, painful experiences may arise.

A person meant to be perceived as "sir" or "ayal" (he, neutral) may be mistaken for "avan" (lowest he).

Only English speakers might be naive enough to ask what’s wrong with that.

About three decades ago, while living almost on the streets, I visited a middle-class household in a local language region with a business proposal deemed a low-status occupation.

There, I met a retired professor and spoke in English. The conversation went well. Had it been in Malayalam, I suspect I’d have been trapped in a "sir-ni" dynamic.

We agreed to meet the next day and travel together in his car for a business-related visit.

Perhaps due to my mental immaturity then, I brought along a worker-supervisor from my family’s business the next day. This person and I occasionally discussed linguistic matters.

I thought I could demonstrate the difference in English communication to him.

Though a subordinate, my refusal to permit subservient behavior made him appear devoid of humility to outsiders.

At the professor’s house, the atmosphere shifted upon seeing us both. The professor seemed almost repulsed.

Nevertheless, we traveled together. Though he spoke in English, his words dripped with displeasure. At one point, he startled me with a Malayalam remark.

I couldn’t grasp the issue. On the return journey, the worker-supervisor exited the car.

Immediately, a heavy burden seemed lifted from the atmosphere. The professor returned to a pleasant demeanor. We discussed various matters in English at his home, parting amicably.

I didn’t understand what happened that day. I lacked the time to ponder deeply, as surviving on the streets required mental barriers, not philosophical entanglements.

Years later, two people visited my home. One was fluent in English; the other, his childhood acquaintance, was an agricultural worker.

Both were about eight or nine years younger than me.

The English-speaking visitor, a wealthy man, came to discuss a business deal.

We spoke in English, addressing each other with "Mr." before our names.

The agricultural worker and his friend shared an "inji-inji" (mutual lowest you) bond of equality or friendship. He was merely tagging along.

The worker saw his friend and me conversing in great camaraderie and equality. In reality, no such closeness, equality, or friendship had developed between me and the visitor in Malayalam terms.

English’s simplicity in conversation can create such a misconception when viewed through Malayalam.

This happened here too. The worker began speaking in Malayalam with overt friendliness. He likely didn’t notice the "Mr." his friend used.

This incident clarified the professor’s mental turmoil from the earlier event.

Before concluding, one more point.

If a lower-positioned person gains the friendship of someone higher than you, their language shifts. "Sir" may become "ni"; "adheham" (he, respectful) may turn to "avan."

[VED]

The writing should now move toward the substantial monthly income Indian government officials receive from the state, a topic of great stature.

However, some matters closely tied to the previous piece need addressing first. If left unwritten, they might haunt my mind, wandering like orphans in the days to come.

Feudal languages assign individuals positions unimaginable in English, as mentioned earlier. These positions create invisible distances between people, with unseen directions, heights, and depths.

In feudal languages, these dynamics exist in relationships between different individuals. The distances, directions, heights, and depths are crafted by the indicant word codes of these languages.

Specifically, words like "you," "he," and "she" have high-status, mid-level, and low-status forms in these languages.

These affect other word forms, creating varying strengths and weaknesses in the strings of attachment within human relationships.

If one person in this linguistically structured setup shifts to another position, those directly connected—and even those unrelated—may experience a jolt, like fish caught in a net being tugged, feeling tremors, shakes, and ripples.

I won’t delve into that now.

Consider another image.

In English-speaking countries, a teacher and student may later develop a relationship where they address each other by first names. Note that "you," "he," and "she" remain unchanged.

In Malayalam and similar languages, such a shift could cause profound pain for one and euphoria for the other, regardless of whether either is a good or bad person.

When a student rises to the teacher’s level, words like "sir," "mash," "ingal," "ni," "inji," "avan," or "on" may maintain invisible distances between them.

But if the student surpasses the teacher, addressing them with "ni" or "avan," issues arise. Physically, it appears as if one has flipped 180°, with the lower person now above and the higher one below.

These word codes deliver a severe blow to one and ecstatic triumph to the other.

To elaborate, consider this scenario.

Someone occasionally speaks with a person of a specific rank in an organization, using "ningal-ningal" (mutual respectful you) terms.

One day, the other joins the same organization—at the same level, higher, or lower than the first person.

Others in each tier define the first person with specific "you" or "he" word forms. Soon, the newcomer adopts these forms—be it "sir," "ayal," or "avan," depending on the positioning.

This applies to marital relationships too. Before marriage, a man’s fiancée’s relatives address him with equal-status words, even in his presence.

The moment the marriage occurs, the status of "you" and "he" words shifts. The person they knew before is not the one they see post-marriage.

Through word linkages, authority, subservience, commands, and obedience are automatically established.

An obscure actress, after signing a contract with an advance for a role, may immediately face a linguistic demotion in address forms, likely for this reason.

It might feel like a tight grip on the body, though the joy of landing a role may overshadow it.

These phenomena don’t exist in English.

Yet, understand that local languages are still barred from certain Indian government platforms, such as where police and military officers are directly selected and trained.

For example, a person passing the NDA exam to become a commissioned officer, typically around 18 years old, is trained by a lower-ranked instructor.

If this trainer addresses the teenage officer-trainee with "tu" or "ni" during drills, it leaves a lingering oppressive mark on the officer.

For this reason, the Indian military prohibits Hindi in such settings under any circumstances.

Given this, the question arises: how can Hindi, a filthy demonic language, be imposed on non-Hindi speakers in India? Yet, those shouting revolutionary rhetoric from every corner today have no time for such concerns.

In Kerala, similar issues seem to persist in direct appointments to ranks like Police Sub-Inspector or DYSP. Malayalam is likely excluded from these platforms.

Yet, this filthy language is imposed as the medium of governance and education.

Languages may contain secret, invisible coding in their words. These codes are activated only when physical contexts and conversations flow through those words.

As long as contexts and conversations avoid these words, no one even knows such coding exists.

This is what I truly intended to write about today. However, diving into this topic feels like it could unleash a flood of words.

Thus, I think it’s best left for the next piece.

[VED]

It has already been noted that feudal languages contain invisible guidelines absent in English.

Let me share a thought that comes to mind.

In Malayalam, the word for "she" traditionally has three levels: "avar," "ayal," and "aval."

Today, "madam" seems to have emerged as a variant of "avar."

Words like "pulli" and "pullikkari" appear to hover between "ayal" and "aval."

For now, let’s focus only on "avar," "ayal," and "aval." These three distinct words indicate three different social or interpersonal positions.

In Malabari, "she" has only two positional words: "or" and "ol." These represent starkly opposing social or interpersonal positions, 180° apart.

There’s also "mooppatti" in Malabari, but we won’t discuss it here.

Similarly, in Malayalam, the word for "you" includes "ni," "ningal," and "thangal" (or "sir").

In Malabari, while "inji," "ningal," and "ingal" exist, they don’t align with the same social or interpersonal positioning as Malayalam’s "you" words.

Historically, Malabari’s "ningal" and "ingal" were closer in meaning to Malayalam’s "thangal." This was explained earlier in this series.

If several women positioned as "ayal" in Malayalam enter a Malabari-speaking context, only a few might be placed at the "or" level.

Most, however, would be relegated to the "ol" position.

The point here is that when the language changes, individuals may grow closer or more distant.

Yet, when these individuals shift to unadulterated English, the myriad invisible strings hanging from their bodies, minds, and personalities—along with their pulls, pushes, and pressures—vanish automatically.

The individual becomes a different person.

However, as long as their local feudal language and its created strings persist in their minds and bodies, they remain markedly different from English speakers.

Skin color turning white doesn’t significantly alter this.

Today, the conflict between Israelis and Palestinian Arabs may owe more to the distinct social design codes embedded in their languages than to differences in spiritual beliefs.

It’s challenging for speakers of languages with opposing word codes to coexist harmoniously in the same society.

Mentioning this brings to mind something Adolf Hitler wrote in Mein Kampf. He noted that Jews unite in the presence of a common enemy.

QUOTE: It is a noteworthy fact that the herd instinct leads to mutual support only as long as a common danger makes this seem useful or inevitable. END of QUOTE

But without a common enemy, they fiercely compete and destroy each other.

QUOTE: they would try to get ahead of one another in hate-filled struggle and exterminate one another, END of QUOTE

Interestingly, some things Hitler wrote about Jews resemble remarks I’ve heard about Mappilas in Malabar, suggesting they unite and suppress others. I can’t delve into this now.

Imagine a society where English speakers and Malayalam speakers coexist, each rooted in their language.

Consider how this society would function. Individuals occupy different positions in each language. The position in English differs from that in Malayalam.

For Malayalam speakers, the English practice of positioning seniors and juniors alike feels like intolerable degradation, elevation, roguery, or thuggery.

However, if a Malayalam speaker is questioned in an English speaker’s police station, they experience little mental distress.

Conversely, if an English speaker is interrogated in a Malayalam speaker’s police station in the Malayalam style, they’d face unbearable mental trauma, especially if they understand Malayalam.

The aim here is to highlight that different languages contain hidden social design codes.

Arabic seems to be a non-feudal language, akin to unadulterated English.

However, the social atmosphere of Arabic speakers doesn’t seem similar to that of English speakers.

From an English perspective, something feels off in Arabic.

I’m addressing something I lack deep knowledge about. What I’ve said may be correct or entirely baseless.

If correct, this flaw in Arabic might be uncovered by meticulously examining its words, sentences, and expressions.

It’s similar to Malayalam and Malabari. A woman of average status in Malayalam becoming a teacher may not display explosive personality growth.

But a woman at the "inji" or "ol" level in Malabari, upon becoming a teacher, shifts to the "ingal" or "or" level. Her personality and confidence may seem to soar sky-high.

This phenomenon can’t be understood through academic fields like psychology or sociology.

The point is that by closely examining the linguistic landscape, such patterns can be identified.

One more thing about Arabic speakers: they don’t seem to share the social demeanor of Malabar’s Mappilas. Mappilas historically spoke Malabari and now speak Malayalam, both strongly feudal languages.

These languages’ mental influence on them is undeniable.

I understand there are diverse ethnicities among Arabic speakers, but I lack further details. Still, I sense Middle Eastern Arabs stand slightly apart from other Islamic ethnicities.

English speakers are similar. Historically, they maintained a slight distance from others speaking their language, sharing their faith, or having their skin color.

I can’t delve into this now either.

I must admit I haven’t reached the core topic intended for today. That can be for the next piece.

[VED]

After addressing a few more points about the positioning of individuals in feudal languages, the writing can shift to the sky-high monthly income of Indian government officials.

It was noted that, despite the relatively flat word code nature of Arabic and English, there are differences in the direction of word codes, their mutual alignment, and other aspects.

I lack the knowledge to say whether the fact that Arabic script is read from right to left is relevant here. Moreover, I’m unsure if the significant difference between the phonetics of Arabic and English words matters in this context.

To be clear, individuals are positioned in each language according to its specific word codes.

To illustrate this vividly, let’s depict the typical positioning of husband and wife in Malayalam.

In Malayalam, those defined as husband and wife are not only positioned relative to each other. The husband is "chetan" (elder brother), and the wife is "ni" (lowest you). This is a profoundly strong arrangement.

However, this arrangement isn’t confined to their personal bond.

It’s sustained by their parents, uncles, aunts, siblings, other relatives, neighbors, friends, and others, who automatically reinforce it through their own words, forms of address, and interactions.

If one wishes to lead a successful family life using only first names and "ni" instead of the chetan-ni bond, they must keep all these relatives and associates at a distance.

This is hardly feasible. Everyone lives within the vast crucible of Malayalam. Living by constantly correcting every conversation or sentence to defy these codes is an arduous task.

Imagine a police office where a Deputy Superintendent of Police (DYSP) and an ordinary police constable are present daily. The constable follows the DYSP’s orders.

One day, a newly appointed Inspector joins the office. Now, the Inspector reports directly to the DYSP, while the constable follows the Inspector’s orders.

For the constable to obey the Inspector, the Inspector must obey the DYSP and other senior police officials, saluting them.

If the Inspector refuses to salute or follow orders from above, the constable is unlikely to feel obligated to follow the Inspector’s commands.

The Inspector is merely a link in the chain-of-command flowing from top to bottom.

In traditional Malayalam custom, the DYSP would address the Inspector as "ni," and the Inspector would address the constable as "ni."

However, as mentioned earlier, modern police recruitment doesn’t follow traditional Malayalam norms. The constable might even be older than the Inspector.

Now, to the main point.

In Malayalam, the husband’s position resembles that of the police Inspector. A daughter is directly subordinate to and obedient to her parents.

Suddenly, the husband is appointed into this dynamic. His wife’s parents, aunts, uncles, and others may address him as "ni."

By showing subservience to them, they collectively ensure his wife’s subservience to him. He can address his wife as "ni" and view her as a subordinate.

However, if the husband refuses to be subservient to his wife’s parents, uncles, and aunts, the very concept of marriage in Malayalam collapses.

The key here is the positioning of husband and wife:

Parents at the top.

Husband below them.

Wife below the husband.

External factors can cause various positional shifts in this structure, but I won’t delve into that now.

Next, consider the positions of husband and wife in English.

Parents and daughter are positioned using the same "you," "your," "yours," "he," "his," "him," "she," "her," "hers" words. No one is subordinate to anyone else.

This type of relationship is unimaginable from a Malayalam perspective.

I’ve heard that in Arabic, children address their father by his first name. If true, this too is unimaginable in Malayalam.

In English, the daughter’s husband is not subordinate to her parents. Moreover, the parents have no moral duty to ensure the daughter is subordinate to her husband.

In English, there’s no linguistic coding of a superior-subordinate relationship between husband and wife.

Thus, the husband isn’t positioned between the parents and daughter in a superior-subordinate hierarchy, as no such hierarchy exists in English marital bonds.

In English, the marital bond is structured as:

Parents - daughter - her husband.

The parents’ relationship with the daughter’s husband exists only through their daughter, not directly. The husband is not their subordinate.

In Malayalam, the husband is directly a subordinate to the daughter’s parents.

There’s much more to say about marital bonds in Malayalam, but I’m carefully steering this writing to avoid slipping into those details.

About a decade ago, I recall a news report from near Kottayam.

An English young man married a local Christian woman. This Englishman learned to speak Malayalam, proving his intelligence—or folly.

With that, his story was practically over!

A significant portion of Christians in Kottayam are descendants of lower-caste individuals who converted. Some have achieved remarkable intellectual, financial, and professional success. However, they rarely seem eager to mention their heritage.

In Malayalam, the daughter’s husband is merely a "ni" or "avan" (lowest he) to her parents, uncles, aunts, and others.

He must show subservience to the parents. Those who encouraged the Englishman to learn Malayalam surely didn’t share this hidden truth with him.

That marriage spiraled into major issues, per the news. The Englishman tried to take their son to England. The wife’s father refused to let the child go. Why would he?

This was a chance to position a person of actual English lineage as "ni" or "avan" going forward.

In Malayalam, the daughter, her husband, and their children are all subordinate to the daughter’s parents.

If someone tells the Englishman “ni poda” (you, get lost), he’d now feel the undeniable force of those words. Taking him to a Kottayam police station would spell serious trouble.

The police may not understand English, but the Englishman would understand their Malayalam. What a mess!

If the police retort, “If you have complaints, go tell them in Britain,” the shock of those words would hit hard, as the virus of understanding Malayalam is already embedded in his mind.

In the same “ni poda” spirit, the wife’s father had the child baptized in his church.

It seems only one parent’s consent is needed for baptism. In Malayalam, the daughter’s consent can be seen as her parents’ consent.

Years ago, sitting outside a lawyer’s office in Nadapuram court, I overheard a conversation.

They discussed trapping a daughter’s husband in a domestic violence case, sending him to jail. It was a Muslim family.

The wife’s father was in the lawyer’s office; the daughter wasn’t.

The lawyer asked, “Okk, ona venda?” (Does she want him?)

The father replied, “Njak ona venda.” (We don’t want him.)

When English speakers marry feudal language speakers, invisible strings, pressures, and tensions—unimaginable beforehand—begin to flutter in their minds, social bonds, and family ties.

If they live in English-speaking countries post-marriage, serious issues may not arise.

But relocating to a feudal language context is like standing on quicksand. The person slowly sinks.

[VED]

There’s much to say about the transcendent software system that drives the creation and execution of this writing. I won’t delve into that now.

However, I can briefly mention that this writing is guided by two distinct forces.

First, there’s the intentional writing.

This involves charting a mental map and navigating toward specific social and historical topics. For instance, the current target is the legally sanctioned monthly income of Indian government officials.

Yet, the path of this writing is often swayed by fragments of thoughts that spontaneously rise from the depths of my mind. These can sometimes lead to a detour from the intended course.

The truth is, I don’t premeditate this writing. Thus, I don’t consider myself a thinker.

In the previous piece, I discussed the specific positioning of wife and husband in marital life. That may have triggered a thought fragment now bubbling up in my mind.

If I don’t write it down now, it might later struggle to find a place and, spinning aimlessly, fade from my mind.

In Indian feudal languages, the wife is positioned as "ni" (lowest you) to the husband, who is "chetan" (elder brother) to her.

Disregarding this coding in local languages and pursuing women’s empowerment is, to an extent, folly—and beyond that, dangerous.

When a wife and husband address each other as "ni," it rarely creates the "you-you" equality seen in English. Instead, it often resembles an older employer and younger worker both using "ni," implying the worker is publicly humiliating the employer.

Each language assigns individuals freedoms, limits, fences, and open spaces based on their positioning. Attempting to apply one language’s norms to another leads to trouble.

When discussing the wife-husband relationship in feudal languages, it’s crucial to note that a toxic competitive streak exists in everyone’s mind. From this perspective, feudal language speakers differ from local English speakers.

In the minds of local English speakers, there’s a natural desire—untainted by malice—to reduce others to "avan/aval" (lowest he/she) while elevating themselves to "addeham/avar" (respected he/she).

In reality, traditional working-class English people in England are far more honest, selfless, welfare-minded, and altruistic than many others.

This description, however, cannot be broadly applied to all British people.

Feudal language minds are filled with various toxic elements, shaping those who become wives and husbands. Each harbors a subtle intent to outwit others for personal gain.

Moreover, they live and interact among others with similar toxic mindsets. Thus, they employ various antidotes and precautions to shield themselves from others’ venom, navigating life and work accordingly.

The silent realization that others’ improvement is dangerous in feudal language codes often flickers like a firefly in the mind. This competitive spirit can even arise between wife and husband.

These are highly complex matters, and I can’t delve into them now.

Let’s move to the thought fragment that surfaced.

In feudal languages, a unique feature absent in English is the positioning of individuals as superior or inferior.

Superiors are never defined by commoners as "ni," "avan," or "aval." However, the lowest-positioned individuals are universally defined with these terms.

As one ascends each rung from the lowest position, fewer people use "ni," "avan," or "aval" to describe them, in proportion to their status.

An individual’s social position can also be measured this way:

In a community of 100 people, the percentage who define someone as "sir," "addeham," or "avar" can precisely quantify their social standing.

A score of 100 positions someone as the highest socially; no one defines them as "ni," "avan," or "aval."

A score of 0 marks someone as the lowest; everyone defines them as "ni," "avan," or "aval."

This scoring applies to the wife-husband relationship too.

A husband at an 80 position should ideally have a wife at least at a 70 position.

This wife shouldn’t work under a 40-position individual or enter spaces where a 40-position person might define her as "ni" or "aval."

This is an extremely complex matter.

In society, individuals occupy various positions. Many navigate these intricate positional dynamics with cunning.

Yet, exposing this cunning is a source of great amusement for others, as the exposed individual may become a laughingstock.

Psychology, that flawed science, seems to lack significant insight into these matters.

Having said this, let me add one more point, starting with the linguistic positioning of wife and husband. With the wife as "ni" and the husband as "chetan," both ideally hold socially proportional positions.

A situation where the wife is "avar" or "or" and the husband is "avan" or "on" is highly dangerous.

For this reason, if the wife is a government employee and the husband a common laborer, societal language codes will relentlessly tear at their marital bond from multiple directions, causing significant issues.

Lower-tier wives and husbands—those engaged in small-scale jobs—are subject to many people’s "ni," "avan," or "aval" terms.

In such a marriage, some make the wife subordinate, while others make the husband subordinate. For those born and raised in this lifestyle, this feels normal, as it’s how they’ve always lived.

However, for those newly experiencing this, their marital life faces severe rifts.

Moreover, suppose the wife prays at certain temples and the husband at others. This is another drawback.

Praying together to the same deity helps foster closeness in the wife-husband bond.

In local feudal languages, the presence of a deity is highly beneficial.

This isn’t as necessary in English social atmospheres, as English doesn’t categorize wives and husbands with varying "ni," "ningal," or "thangal" levels.

Often, higher-status individuals in feudal language regions maintain devotion to specific deities in their homes.

Suppose the wife worships one set of deities and the husband another.

This carries some negativity, akin to the wife and husband belonging to opposing political parties.

While family protection may be ensured regardless of which party rules, this very reason can distance the wife and husband at home. They conceptualize different political deities in their minds.

The wife stands subordinate to the husband, both worshipping the same deity. Their children join, envisioning the same deity.

The deity is created in the transcendent software of the mind. Through this conceptualization, the deity gains existence.

From this existence, an invisible link flows to the transcendent software of the husband, wife, and children’s minds. In this space, the mind and individual find some relief from the feudal language’s tugs.

But don’t forget: feudal languages have infused a toxin in everyone’s minds.

The deity conceptualization mentioned above is akin to the concept of "government."

Many officials say, “This is the government’s order.”

No one has seen the government in physical form. Its face and color are unknown.

Yet, the phrase “government’s order” carries clear meaning.

Moreover, it holds force. The government concept keeps officials within a specific framework, granting them social power as individuals.

Such phenomena are absent in English social atmospheres.

[VED]

Now, let’s move to the sky-high monthly salaries of government officials in new India.

With the birth of new India in 1947, modest advancements in officials’ monthly salaries began. Middle-tier officials, who existed physically until 1947, didn’t suddenly soar to astronomical heights on August 15, 1947, as I understand it.

The key event was that the English and other British officials above them left their jobs and returned to Britain. (The British government reportedly compensated them for job loss; new India paid nothing.)

This shift was particularly pronounced in the Indian military, though I won’t delve into that now.

Each new Pay Commission brought salary increases, but these were modest.

By the 1990s, however, government officials began to perceive their monthly salaries as limitless.

As English vanished from interactions between officials and commoners, no ordinary person could address officials while maintaining their dignity, personality, or nobility.

Today, only rogues or loudmouths have the mental fortitude to address a government official as “ningal” (respectful you), reflecting the elevated self-esteem of new India’s populace.

The notion emerged that officials stand on a higher platform than the commoners. New India’s educational institutions competitively instilled the idea that ordinary people are a kind of filth.

High word codes upheld officials’ platforms, necessitating substantial incomes, a belief that spread across minds in new India.

Moreover, princely states like Travancore, where officials were imagined as holding grand social status, merged into new India.

The English education system, English-speaking officials, and English-speaking populace nurtured under British rule scattered, withered, and eroded in new India.

By the 1990s, the IT sector’s growth brought massive revenue to new India, flooding government coffers through various channels.

Many officials envied, with a pang of resentment, the high earnings young people made in India by performing jobs for the US and Britain.

Thus, officials’ incomes began to rise dramatically, initially with some hesitation due to fears of backlash from revolutionary parties.

Soon, it became clear that revolutionary parties drew their strongest support from officials themselves. Who was left to fear?

Many IT experts and medical professionals started working in the US, Britain, and elsewhere, some becoming permanent residents there.

In new India’s early days, countries like Britain and the US were distant for officials. Even high-ranking Indian Foreign Service officers couldn’t live lavishly abroad on their salaries.

Post-1990s salary hikes made Britain and the US less distant. Yet, officials realized their elevated salaries weren’t enough to send their children abroad or ensure their comfortable life there until citizenship was secured.

I noticed that before salary hikes, newspapers published articles with a common flavor, like:

“Look at a British professor’s salary—… lakhs of rupees. An Indian professor gets just 90,000 rupees.”

These articles omitted that many British private workers earn vast sums in Indian currency, while most Indian private workers today earn 5,000 to 20,000 rupees monthly.

Government peons now earn from 27,000 rupees upward monthly, while senior officials earn 2 to 2.5 lakhs.

In truth, none perform work justifying such incomes. Yet, these salaries are deemed necessary to educate their children in Britain or the US and sustain them there until citizenship.

Textbooks offer a simple explanation for India’s poverty: British plunder left ordinary people with meager incomes and officials with sky-high salaries.

No one dares think aloud about this. I recall a wealthy copra trader from a small village agreeing with this but saying:

“I can’t speak out. Sales tax officials would harass me.”

If officials harassed this trader, others would rejoice, proclaiming on social media that he was caught evading taxes, earning thousands of likes.

About 20 years ago, a sales tax clerk shared a story.

Tax officials flagged a jeep carrying furniture from Mahe at the Kerala border. The jeep didn’t stop. The tax “brigands” chased and stopped it.

During a revolutionary party-led chief minister’s tenure, tax officials were allegedly allowed to physically search traders and rummage through their pockets. After stopping the jeep, they questioned its occupants rudely on the street and attempted a body search.

This is a sample of the “great freedom” that emerged in Malabar after English rule vanished.

A scuffle broke out between the jeep’s occupants and tax officials. A crowd gathered, initially siding with the jeep’s people.

Then, the tax “brigand” leader calmly explained to the crowd:

“Free education, hospitals, medicines, roads—these depend on collecting taxes from these thieves.”

The crowd realized those buying from Mahe were the “thieves.” They backed the officials, addressing them as “sir” and berating the “thieves” as “ni” or “eda” (lowest you, derogatory).

The unnoticed mastermind here isn’t the jeep’s “thieves” or tax “heroes,” but the Malayalam language itself—the true terror. It turns people into puppets, pulling their strings in a silent show.

Many wealthy officials I know strive to send their children to the US, Britain, or other English-speaking countries.

Meanwhile, ordinary Britons and officials have nowhere better to flee en masse. Finding a place superior to England is tough, yet England is unraveling today.

If ordinary Britons left England, others would follow. They’d have little interest in coexisting with others, especially if English faded there.

Here’s a critical truth: why do wealthy Indians’ children migrate to English-speaking countries to live as commoners?

No one dares openly ponder who prefers to live and work under whom or in what social atmosphere.

I plan to delve into this deeper truth in the next piece.

[VED]

About four decades ago, I read Shadow of the Moon by English author M.M. Kaye. The novel’s story lingers faintly in my mind.

Set against the backdrop of the 1857 mutiny by Indian sepoys in Meerut, near Delhi, the novel exaggerates this minor event, which the British government used to seize India from the English East India Company. I won’t delve into that now.

A young Englishwoman named Winter arrives in India. If my memory serves, she comes to marry an Englishman working there.

Winter was born and raised somewhere in northern India, so she knows the local language well.

The novel describes a mental state she experiences: while living in India, she feels an overwhelming, oppressive weight pressing on her mind, the cause of which is unclear.

The author, M.M. Kaye, was also an Englishwoman born and raised in India. This oppressive sensation might reflect her own lived experience.

The novel offers insights into the local social atmosphere, though readers likely focus on the kings, societal elites, and battle scenes mentioned.

What caused this oppressive feeling for Winter and M.M. Kaye can be understood precisely. Raised by local maids who addressed them as “thoo” (lowest you), these English individuals likely felt demeaned and belittled.

This resembles the sensation a young female IPS officer might feel if addressed as “ni” by an older peon-rank woman.

This belittling extends to many words tied to “ni.” That’s the crux.

Yet, it’s unsurprising that neither Winter nor Kaye was aware of this transcendent coding. Even today, most Indians react to the idea of such toxic coding in Indian languages as if hearing novel or absurd information.

I know people who, upon hearing this from me, tried to write it up as a research discovery for a PhD.

About 35 years ago, a Malayali in another state shared a story.

A wealthy relative’s son went to the US for higher studies but refused to return, despite pleas.

This caused a crisis in the family. They learned a wealthy trader friend was traveling to the US for business and gave him the son’s address.

They offered to fund his travel to meet the son, urging and insisting he return to India.

Back then, going to the US was like traveling to outer space.

The trader went to the US, completed his business, and traveled to the son’s address.

Upon finding the young man, the trader was stunned.

The young man was working at a petrol pump, filling vehicles with fuel.

Once dressed in mundu and kaili in India, he now wore a T-shirt and torn jeans.

“My dear, what are you doing? Won’t this shame your parents? Is it for lack of money? Come with me; let’s return.”

The young man’s reaction was peculiar, as if a wild monkey invited him to a jungle in crude language.

He showed no familiarity with Indian languages, reportedly uttering a crude English phrase to the trader—perhaps akin to “Poda, mind your own business” in Malayalam.

Around the early 2000s, many nurses and doctors from India, especially Kerala, migrated to England for work.

Nurses fall into two categories: those with a BSc Nursing degree and those with minimal qualifications working as sisters or nursing assistants in private hospitals. I lack precise details on this.

England’s National Health Service (NHS) employs Indian nurses, offering them a key advantage: a work environment in English.

No one belittles them with “ni,” “avan,” or “aval.” Nor do they need to use such terms to demean others.

Work instructions come in polished English sentences.

In 2004, while participating in a British forum, I noticed discussions about inefficiencies in the NHS, though no one understood the cause.

Some local nurses expressed disgust at working with Indian nurses, often labeled as racism.

In reality, Indian doctors and nurses were subversively disrupting England’s English social atmosphere, causing unease among some locals. This was cunningly framed as racism.

The English couldn’t comprehend or articulate that a group defining lower-tier workers, youth, or the economically disadvantaged as “ni,” “avan,” or “aval” had infiltrated the NHS.

Though Indian language speakers and English speakers are both human, they are practically different species. More on this later.

Here’s a story. A young Muslim man from a prominent village family, with a BSc Nursing degree, joined the government health department.

He worked in various government hospitals, encountering older, non-degree-holding nurses who addressed him as “ni” or “mone” (son) at every opportunity, using “avan” in front of acquaintances.

He was expected to address them as “chetan” or “chechi” (elder brother/sister), elevating them. Unable to tolerate this, he resigned, as continuing would cost him respect at home.

No one would call his exit racism.

Now, to the point ahead on this writing’s path.

Children of India’s senior officials, military officers, and wealthy elites aspire to work and live in English-speaking countries.

Saying “My son is in the UK” often makes the question of what they do there irrelevant.

There was a time when asking about jobs in the Gulf was similarly irrelevant. But the UK differs slightly.

In the Gulf, the goal is to earn money through any job and return to India as a wealthy person.

In England, the aim is to live there modestly on meager earnings, not to amass wealth.

Even if modest UK earnings translate to significant sums in India, few wish to return.

These children of military officers, IAS officials, and tycoons don’t pursue IAS or IPS roles in England.

Instead, they work as shop salesmen, laundry workers, restaurant table cleaners, waiters, cooks, sanitary workers in the Department of Health and Social Care, taxi drivers, and more.

Naming these jobs in Malayalam invites disgrace.

Yet, living and working in an upper-tier English-speaking region is a privilege. Indians in England rarely abandon this to return to India.

Today, England may have changed slightly.

Over 60% of London’s population is reportedly foreign-born. Still, with diverse languages, English remains the common tongue.

However, many young Indians arriving in England end up among other Indian language speakers.

This is a major issue. They flee India to live in an English-speaking society, not to be trapped among Indian language speakers.

If stuck among Indians, the jobs they do in England will be labeled in Indian languages, causing significant shame.

In the past, Gulf migrants were economically disadvantaged Indians. But many UK-bound individuals come from India’s elite families. Hearing their UK jobs described in Indian languages shames not only them but their families back home.

Returning to India as a media hero might mitigate this, but resuming such jobs in India today could be problematic.

For England’s hotel workers, laundry workers, cleaners, taxi drivers, and shop workers to want to do the same jobs in India, England would need to become like India. If so, working in either country might feel the same.

Alternatively, India would need to become like England, offering the same mental and social experience in either nation.

[VED]

I now intend to discuss one or two matters related to the monthly salaries of government officials before moving on from this topic.

The realisation that those performing jobs for England and America from India earn substantial incomes prompted the Indian government to raise the monthly salaries of its officials to astronomical levels.

The discovery among official leaders was that the only way to suppress this income without directly addressing it was to uncontrollably increase the monthly salaries of government officials.

However, after increasing the monthly salaries and subsequent pensions of government officials in this manner, it was observed that the monthly salaries of those working in India for American and English companies dropped to significantly lower levels. Even in the software sector, the monthly salaries available in India plummeted.

Today, in many software companies, the monthly income for entry-level employees is 15,000 rupees.

Even in major American companies where American jobs are performed from India, most employees earn salaries below 30,000 rupees. Yet, the work environment in these companies is characterised by an exceptionally sophisticated English communication atmosphere.

The mental calibre of those working in such companies is often of an exceptionally high standard, frequently surpassing that of India’s senior officials. However, the monthly salary these individuals receive is merely equivalent to that of a government peon.

No one seems interested in addressing this injustice. The reason is that those working in American companies face intense mental hostility, enmity, and competitiveness from others. This stems from the inability to replicate their communicative ease in local language platforms.

At the same time, no qualms arise in minds about government officials receiving exorbitant monthly salaries. The reason is that officials are Saar and Maadam. The notion that they are superior is ingrained in minds by local languages. Their salaries must be increased further and further.

Some years ago, I read an article by a senior IAS official about increasing the monthly salaries of IAS officials by one or two lakh rupees. Ayaal argued that this would cost the central government’s treasury a mere 33 crore rupees, a trivial expense for the Indian government.

It is worth considering why such salary increases are deemed necessary. The foremost reason is that 2.5 lakh rupees equates to just $3,000 in American dollars. This amount is often insufficient for the son of a senior IAS official to live comfortably and study in America.

There may be other reasons, but I will mention only one here.

Those aspiring to become Indian government officials typically come from the lower or middle-class families in this country. For those living at high economic standards, a government job is not an attractive prospect.

Decades ago, in another state, I used to visit the home of the daughter of a 5-star hotel owner to tutor her son in ninth-class subjects.

That household already possessed cars known as foreign cars and other international amenities at the time.

During a conversation, the question arose about what the young boy aspired to become.

I foolishly asked if he wanted to pass the IAS exam. The young boy laughed and replied that the City Commissioner occasionally visited their home for meals. He spoke of that job as if it were a low-status occupation.

In reality, seeing government offices, the people working there, and the prevailing work environment should evoke a sense of disgust.

Yet, the fact that this does not occur among India’s common people points to a decline in their mental standards. The desire to somehow join an institution filled with such filth, corrupt expressions, and exploitative systems drives young people to endure the sheer folly of formal education.

The aim is to somehow attain a stinking position of power and then lord over others. Achieving this induces a frenzied state akin to madness, fuelled by the dance of local feudal languages in the mind.

Even marital alliances with those working in such foul places are secretly advised by local feudal languages to be as valuable as gold.

However, people lack the English language proficiency to counter this perverse advice. Thus, everyone in this country remains enslaved to this delusion.

Listen to what I have to say next.

When an individual from a socially lower or middle-class family joins a government job at any level, they constantly encounter high-ranking individuals from society, industry, and commercial sectors standing before them daily.

Many display great humility. Some bow in deference. Most use the words Saar and Maadam. This is because if government employees tamper with their official documents, their organisations and they themselves could face dire consequences.

For government employees who suddenly rise as overlords of these social elites, a legally high salary platform is deemed essential, a notion strongly endorsed by all.

The perception that this Saar’s salary is insufficient spreads widely. This begins from the lowest rungs of the government system.

All these illusions are merely the handiwork of local feudal languages. This demon fosters various frenzied greeds and obsessions in the human mind.

There is another side to what I’ve described above. No matter how prominent a business leader, they must bow before government officials to survive in this country.

Those who fail to comply often face various predicaments. Such failures arise when business leaders perceive that government officials aspiring to rule share the same mental calibre as the lowest workers in their offices.

This creates a highly dangerous environment.

Around the year 2000, a little-known reason why PayPal, a formidable payment gateway, has failed to operate successfully in India to this day may be found here.

The English conduct of PayPal officials is intolerable to Indian officials. This is because Indian officials cling to verbal subservience and deferential behaviour, which they demand unequivocally.

In the late 1990s, an American company, Enron, attempting to start a power project in Maharashtra, faced a similar experience. Its American officials were made to run pillar to post daily in Maharashtra’s government offices.

Indian journalists at the time applauded this spectacle, writing about it gleefully in the media.

Enron collapsed spectacularly. It is said that the Maharashtra government still owes them 64 million dollars. Yet, speaking to Indian officials without bowing invites trouble.

What happened to PayTM recently may be a similar case. Officials quickly realise they can seize prominent public limited companies.

Such takeovers are applauded by the public, who believe socialism here requires destroying private enterprises.

However, no one dares to tell officials that what occurs is their frenzied dance. Everyone is busy protecting their own interests in a social atmosphere coded by local feudal languages, where people trample one another.

[VED]

A matter related to government officials infiltrating major commercial enterprises has now come to mind.

When Mrs. CPS was in the position of IG in the Registration Department, those in that role would automatically become a director in one of Kerala’s government-owned public sector commercial enterprises.

Occasionally, a director board meeting would be organised.

This director board meeting would be deliberately scheduled in some location in Kerala, often providing an experience akin to a lavish tourist trip with expensive accommodation facilities. Additionally, substantial sums would be disbursed, categorised under various departments, in connection with this trip.

I don’t know if anything significant is ever discussed in these director board meetings. It doesn’t seem so. However, another memory related to this comes to mind.

It concerns the periodic conferences of senior officials at the Registration IG office. People from far-off places would come and wait to meet these officials. However, they couldn’t see these senior officials easily because the duffedar (senior peon) would pompously inform them that the officials were in a conference.

People would wait outside for hours with great self-restraint, believing that divine personalities were engaged in a grand assembly.

However, as the son of the Registration IG, no one would stop me. I would enter the Registration IG’s room if I had some personal matter to discuss. That’s when I directly witnessed the calibre of these senior officials’ conferences.

Seated around the Registration IG were senior officials raised in a Malayalam language environment. Seeing them, one would find no resemblance to those raised in an English language environment.

The serious topics discussed in this solemn conference included matters like the gatherings at one Saar’s house or the wedding of another Saar’s son. It doesn’t seem like these people have the knowledge, erudition, or mental calibre to discuss anything substantial.

The reason is that everyone knows the government department’s operations are riddled with numerous shortcomings. Yet, no one shows any vision or interest in addressing them.

Instead, the only sentiment among them is to maintain their own positions and the subservience they receive from others.

Moreover, it would be difficult to confine any of them to the definition of a government officer as it existed in old India.

In essence, the conference is nothing but a grand pastime for these divine personalities.

Now, let me return to the path of this writing.

It is true that people worldwide strive to infiltrate, creep, or leap into English nations.

This phenomenon also occurred in India. It’s worth recalling that, at the time, the country’s alias was British-India.

People from various South Asian countries would enter India in different ways. Back then, it seems there was no concept of citizenship in India. Anyone could come and become an Indian.

This is how MK Gandhi also tried to make a name for himself as an Indian in various foreign countries.

Today, many people from India migrate to England and the US. Some of them have high formal educational qualifications, while others have none.

Both groups, upon reaching English nations, would historically use their professional skills to work and live there.

Even today, without significant skills, some join teaching professions in those countries based on certain educational qualifications, it seems.

A common claim among most non-English-speaking immigrants in English nations is that their and their ancestors’ labour and work created the immense prosperity in those countries.

For example, the claim of Black Americans is that their ancestors’ slave labour brought economic excellence to the US.

Similar claims are made by continental Europeans as well.

In Adolf Hitler’s Mein Kampf, it is stated that the intelligence, culture, and other abilities of Germans created the great nation of the US.

Today, Indians and Pakistanis infiltrating the US are constantly looking for opportunities to make similar claims.

The flaw in these claims is this:

In India, billions of people toil arduously, yet no significant change occurs in the country’s true character.

Whether highly educated or not, when Indians or other feudal language speakers enter English nations, they do the same thing: they engage in disruptive activities through invisible language code words within that English social environment.

That social environment slowly begins to stink.

An MBBS graduate once told me he was interested in moving to England. I remarked that the quality of old England is hard to find in England today. His response was quite precise.

Ayaal said, no matter how much it stinks there, things are still far better than here.

In other words, while the natives of England may feel their homeland is deteriorating, for those entering from outside, it feels like stepping into paradise.

With the birth of new India in 1947, one ambition among its officials was to implement the ambitious projects of English nations from here and outdo those nations.

This is a competitive mindset found in people with trivial personalities. We need not delve into that.

Decades ago, the Indian official establishment sent a team to Antarctica. The team included some senior military officers, senior officials from scientific departments, and others.

When the ship reached Antarctica, a major issue reportedly arose: who would carry the boxes and other items from the ship as luggage? The military generals declared without hesitation that they hadn’t come to carry loads.

For an Indian military officer to maintain their personality, the insignia of their rank must shine from the polished shoulder of their military uniform. Additionally, the presence of a military peon to salute them is desirable.

Similarly, for an Indian civil official, the presence of subordinate officials constantly uttering Saar and Maadam around them is absolutely essential.

Without this, if they walk around in ordinary attire and people use words like Ningal, lowest you, or thou, they would have to endure it.

Later, if someone recognises them and says, oh, I didn’t know it was Saar, they might pave conozco way for grand, epic tales. If such recognition doesn’t occur, it’s a major problem.

Around 1981, an incident occurred in Manjeri. A young man, after completing his degree and joining the Indian Military Academy, became a commissioned officer as a Second Lieutenant in the military. While visiting home, he went with friends to a cinema theatre in Manjeri to watch a movie. Inside the theatre, everyone was smoking cigarettes.

The police caught them and took them to the police station. No one told the police that this person was a Second Lieutenant. The police used words like lowest you, eda, and enthada, what’s your name, truly shocking him.

The family learned of the police incident and quickly informed senior police officials that the detained person was a commissioned officer in the military.

This story was later told to me by a relative of that military officer, who was an officer in the Kerala government. When Ayaal shared this story, his face darkened with distress.

He lamented that the young man should have told the police he was a commissioned officer.

It’s worth recalling a recent statement by a media person and a lawyer that anyone entering a police station in common attire should be made to stink.

Through extensive communication training, clearly defined job responsibilities, and other measures, later Indian missions to Antarctica may have avoided the issues mentioned earlier.

A business establishment owner once told me that when hiring an attender, they would have them sign a job responsibility to fetch tea. This is because the linguistic environment in India doesn’t even provide the mental courage to perform such a trivial task.

When such Indians arrive in an uninhabited new region, they create the same dreadful atmosphere there.

Consider what happened in Wynad. The local people there were taught Malayalam and suppressed to the levels of lowest you, lowest he, lowest she, eda, and edi.

Now, let’s consider what happened in Australia. This stands next in the path of this writing. The reason for this will become clear in the next piece, I presume.

[VED]

I mentioned in the previous writing that I would discuss Australia.

It appears that the first to arrive in that region was a Dutch ship in 1606. The Dutch are not English; they are continental Europeans.

In the history of continental Europe, the French, Germans, Spaniards, and others, who are prominent, are not English. They all seem to be speakers of various feudal languages, as I understand it.

However, looking at European history, these groups have demonstrated significant social and intellectual excellence, likely because they existed in regions closely connected to England over time.

This may be a point that many today find hard to accept, but it seems to be the truth.

If England had been just 20 kilometres across the sea from Malabar, the social and personal characteristics of Malabar would have seen great elevation. The same applies to countries like the US, Canada, and New Zealand.

Another point to mention here:

Until 1947, British Malabar was ahead of Travancore in every aspect. Malabar had railways, a postal department, and high-quality government institutions. There was excellent English education, and caste-based considerations were prohibited in government systems.

However, after 1947, the people of Travancore surged ahead in all matters. For instance, in cinema, Travancoreans leapt into the film industry in Madras, which was the capital of the state where Malabar was located.

Back then, Malabarians lived with a subdued competitive spirit, basking in the social peace provided by the English administration.

A similar mindset existed among the English.

The frenzy to outdo others was prevalent among the elites of continental Europe. The urge to prove oneself superior to others is a characteristic generally found in those of lower stature.

Generally speaking, the English had no need to convince anyone of their superiority.

Now, let me get to the point I intended to discuss.

In 1770, a British ship commanded by Captain James Cook arrived in Australia. From 1788, England began deporting petty criminals to Australia. These petty criminals were unlikely to be highly educated or socially elite.

Until 1783, such petty criminals were deported to the regions now known as the US. These people likely initiated English settlements in various parts of those American regions.

Before them, the Pilgrim Fathers were the first to arrive in the Plymouth Colony in what is now the US, in 1620. That’s another story, and there’s no scope to delve into it now.

Around 1783, a traitor and scoundrel named George Washington, along with continental Europeans, facilitated the seizure of English territories, leading to the creation of the US.

Consequently, England began deporting all its petty criminals to Australia.

It’s important to note that the English who came to live in the English settlements in the US and Australia were ordinary people. These are the ones who built these two nations into great English countries.

However, it is commonly understood today that great scientists and mathematicians with immense intellectual prowess are what sustain the US as a great nation.

No one seems to know why the US became such an attractive nation. Even many US presidents lack insight into this. Each of them seems to be leading the US toward its downfall.

The truth is that the US shines because the English language stands as a great wall in its social backdrop.

Yet, the majority of people in the US today are not from traditional English families. Many are merely thriving within the English social framework. For them, English is just a great convenience.

The case of Australia is similar. As that nation grew in excellence, many from continental Europe infiltrated it. Consequently, many believed that white people were the ones who elevated the country to greatness.

Later, people from Africa’s powerful tribes and Asia began infiltrating Australia.

Today, many of them claim that their arrival and labour sustain Australia’s high standards.

What needs attention here is that ordinary, uneducated English people elevated these nations to high standards.

Their only mental strength was not merely knowing the English language. Rather, it was also the significant fact that they did not understand feudal languages.

They likely had no knowledge of Sanskrit, Vedic literature, epics, or their profound moral teachings.

They wouldn’t have appropriated Vedic science or Vedic mathematics.

They couldn’t have built any Vedic-era culture.

The English created great social environments and nations in a distinct manner.

While other great empires and cultures showcased massive buildings, forts, pyramids, military formations, and parades, the English, wherever they went, built great individuals, highly efficient social systems, courteous administrative mechanisms, laws protecting human dignity, and excellent customs.

None of these can be displayed in a museum or glass case.

In contrast, the Roman Empire and others showcased colossal architectural creations built by countless slaves, sculptures crafted by skilled artisans, and artistic forms—not great ordinary individuals.

As this writing reaches this point, the thought that arises is what excellence the much-hyped formal education, spanning ten, fifteen, or twenty years, truly brings to society.

It may be true that high educational qualifications open pathways to great life or career opportunities for some individuals.

However, it offers only a negligible chance compared to winning a lottery for most people.

If someone goes to England and does a job considered trivial in India, their mind will be filled with mental elevation and positive qualities that even a senior Indian official might not attain.

Standing before an Indian official often leaves people feeling degraded.

This need not remain a great puzzle in thought. The explanation is quite simple.

Indian languages commonly use words that degrade most people in everyday conversations. In contrast, the English language lacks any provocation to think in such a way.

The next topic to address in this writing is formal education. After that, I intend to guide this writing toward PSC and UPSC examinations.

[VED]

It can be said, to some extent, that the concept of public education, or education itself, was introduced in South Asia by the English East India Company.

However, it may be true that certain forms of teaching took place in religious seminaries.

It seems that many among the socially elite, who were not Muhammadans, were dedicated to studying Sanskrit.

One reason for this could be that the socially elite had ample time to think about and discuss philosophical matters.

Sanskrit texts carry an aura of ancient grandeur. There was a belief that these texts, written with great care and effort by some ancient people, contained profound social principles and mystical concepts hidden within their esoteric depths.

Another point is that familiarity with Sanskrit texts often allows one to project the impression of possessing vast erudition and arcane skills to others.

I recall something Khushwant Singh, the editor of the Illustrated Weekly of India, once wrote in his regular column With Malice towards One and All.

He said that for speaking at public forums, he would memorise a few Sanskrit phrases. Quoting these at strategic moments would create the impression among listeners that he had vast knowledge of Sanskrit literature.

It seems that many still use this tactic today.

In its early days, the English East India Company provided substantial financial support to institutions for studying Sanskrit and Arabic.

However, young people showed little interest in such studies. It seems there weren’t even enough people to buy Sanskrit and Arabic textbooks. This observation is recorded in Thomas Macaulay’s Minutes on Indian Education.

Young people back then aspired to become like the English by studying. The prevailing opinion was likely that studying science and mathematics would make a person like the English.

The English Company was also unclear on the matter. They were very keen on instilling great personal qualities in the people of India, a country they themselves created and were tasked with governing.

In other words, they wanted the people here to develop the personality of the English in England. However, no one had clear insight into how to achieve this.

Thomas Macaulay reported that Indian languages were rude. For this reason, he opined that English should be taught in India.

Moreover, he found that local languages had very few words and technical terms.

To address this second issue, English Company officials had already begun efforts. They started working to elevate local languages in various regions.

As part of this, they developed the Hindi language in India’s northern regions. It is understood that Hindi was created by combining several smaller languages and enriching them with Sanskrit words and other elements.

However, it seems clear that local languages in the administrative system led to confusion, disputes, commotion, conflicts, undiplomatic behaviour, corruption, and favoritism.

In reality, it was easier to teach local languages to English Company officials working in the administrative system than to teach English to all local officials.

Moreover, English people born and raised in India likely developed proficiency in local languages.

However, English people who could understand and speak local languages underwent clear changes in behaviour, demeanor, and perspective. Yet, since they lived among the English, they retained an English demeanor to some extent.

When these individuals returned to England, the distinct elevation in their demeanor greatly troubled ordinary English people and others.

To implement public education in India, the English Company administration took various steps. However, the company earned only meager revenue from this country. It’s also worth noting that the extortionate system of sales tax was suppressed to a great extent back then.

The senior officials in the administrative system were local individuals who had attained great proficiency in the English language.

When viewed in English, the administrative system is merely a collective of workers employed in government offices.

However, local people view these officials through the lens of local languages. In other words, if they do not show clear subservience and servility toward officials, the officials shift to an aggressive demeanor.

Now, it’s time to address the matter of public education.

There is a widespread notion that studying scientific subjects constitutes true education, while studying arts subjects is a mere waste of time.

In other words, if studying arts subjects doesn’t lead to a government job, the time spent is wasted. However, studying scientific subjects imparts great technical knowledge. Even if no job is secured, one can use the acquired technical knowledge to work independently and make a living.

Related to this mindset, there exists a curriculum called STEM, an acronym for science, technology, engineering, and mathematics.

The attitude of those with this mindset is: Look, young people in India who studied science, mathematics, and medicine are working great jobs and thriving in England, America, Australia, and elsewhere.

But the reality is different. People from India, whether educated or not, infiltrate English nations. There, they live as ordinary people, not as Ayaal or Maadam, as they might here.

At the same time, Indians leading major IT companies in America, using the same technical skills they studied, would, if working in Indian companies, be subjected to their employers’ words like lowest you, thou, lowest he, or lowest she.

If they entered an Indian government office, their experience would be even worse than what Enron company officials faced back then. This is because they are merely employees of an Indian private company.

Only when they enter America do they feel they have acquired magical abilities.

An Indian woman working at a major IT company in America had the audacity to block the company’s social media account belonging to the American president.

Such boldness would never enter her mind while working at a private company in India. If she blocked the Indian prime minister’s account citing company policy, there’s no need to say what would happen.

People would be stunned, wondering how a mere private company employee could have such arrogance.

Let me return to the path of this writing.

I don’t know why the English word “science” was translated as shasthram. In the Sanskrit linguistic tradition of South Asia, the word shasthram exists, often representing ancient Sanskrit social codes.

Thus, the translation of shasthram may lead to various confusions. It appears that shasthram existed in South Asia centuries, if not millennia, before the term “science” was coined in England.

It seems this writing has significantly veered from the intended point.

However, what is evident in the above discussion is another major confusion.

The initial thought was about what kind of education would make people like the English.

But the public education that began this way ended up focusing on formal technical education.

Technical education is job-oriented learning, which anyone can aim for. However, this is not what public education should target!

I plan to address what I have observed about public education next. That may come in the next writing, I presume.

[VED]

The English East India Company administration sought to change and eliminate various behaviors and communication traits among the people of the India they created.

I don’t know if they could precisely articulate a clear guideline for this in words. However, it is true that many of the company’s officials struggled to understand the behavioral characteristics of India’s people.

The English officials found little in the daily lives of the people that impressed them. Consequently, many of them likely discussed the need to bring about significant mental transformation in India’s populace.

However, there were also those among them who argued that such an impression was not a fair assessment.

Mountstuart Elphinstone, a historian and the Lieutenant-Governor of Bombay in 1819, expressed it this way:

In that country also, religions and manners put bars to our intimacy with native and limit the number of transactions as well as the free communication of opinions.

We know nothing of the interior of families but by report, and have no share in those numerous occurrences of life in which the amiable part’s of character are most exhibited.

Translation: In that country (the India of that time), religions and behavioral norms create barriers to close interaction with locals and restrict free exchange of opinions.

We know nothing about the inner workings of their families except through reports, and we have no part in the many life events where the admirable aspects of character are most displayed.

Mountstuart Elphinstone was a Scottish individual, not an Englishman. Thus, it shouldn’t seem surprising that he failed to understand India.

Nevertheless, it is said that he introduced the system of state education in India. If he couldn’t clearly understand India while implementing this, it was indeed a significant failure.

The reality is that India’s people lack a consistent behavior or character trait.

They exhibit very courteous behavior toward those addressed with words of subservience. At the same time, they can behave cruelly toward those addressed with degrading words.

This cruelty may manifest in harsh tones and threatening gestures. Alternatively, it can appear in polished words accompanied by a soft, mocking smile.

I recall observing a police official who behaved with great humility and a gentle tone toward senior officials. The same person displayed a demonic demeanor toward ordinary people.

It’s astonishing that such contrasting demeanors can coexist in one individual.

However, examining the words used reveals the reason clearly. One demeanor toward Saar or Ayaal, another toward lowest you or lowest he.

This behavioral shift is prevalent among speakers of South Asian feudal languages. This is likely what Macaulay identified as rude.

In the India of that time, education meant eradicating the inherent demonic tendencies that surfaced in interpersonal interactions among its people.

At the same time, imparting England’s advanced technical skills, expertise, scientific knowledge, and innovative mathematical discoveries to India’s people was achievable through education. However, it should have been understood that this was distinct from primary education.

Those in India who had acquired English language proficiency clearly understood that entering a social platform where English is spoken endowed them with great communication skills and competence.

Yet, these individuals often strove to ensure others in India didn’t gain this competence.

I don’t know to what extent English officials grasped this entire dynamic.

When India’s individuals spoke and interacted with them in English, the officials likely saw highly impressive personalities and vast scholars.

However, when these same individuals interacted with their workers, subordinates in their families, or others of lower status, they transformed into personalities unimaginable to the English.

A common trait observed among workers and socially lower individuals in both the India of that time and today is defining and addressing peers in degrading terms, indicating a lack of mutual respect.

Simultaneously, they speak and behave with great subservience and respect toward those above them.

For English workers to adopt such a trait, they would need to exert considerable effort, as the English language lacks you, he, she word codes that degrade others in address or reference.

In both the India of then and now, people keep their word to those of higher status but not to those of lower status.

If a high-status individual falls socially, people refuse to honor promises made to them. The reasoning is that the promise was made to Ayaal, not to lowest he. The new attitude becomes: tell lowest he to get lost.

People stand on some rung of an Ingal👆 - Inji👇 ladder. This is a phenomenon absent in English.

This phenomenon creates varying levels of attraction and repulsion among people.

Individuals at different levels cannot resolve even trivial issues through discussion. Thus, people strive to advance by asserting their physical, social, or other strengths.

Even to request someone to stand in a queue, one must clearly establish themselves as being on a higher rung of the Ingal👆 - Inji👇 ladder. If a lower-rung individual makes such a request, it is perceived as an insult by the higher-rung person and others.

A lower-rung individual feels no repulsion toward touching a higher-rung person. Moreover, accidentally touching a higher-rung person may be considered great fortune, and this may not always be a mere feeling.

However, for a higher-rung person, touching someone far below them can evoke repulsion, and this too may not be a mere feeling.

Furthermore, accidentally or unintentionally touching a lower-rung person may feel like defilement or a loss of dignity, and this may not be a mere feeling either.

Local feudal languages declare that a person with wealth and money has the right to claim higher word codes.

In English, wealth and money cannot influence word codes in any way.

If a lower-rung person is not suppressed, they are likely to become dangerous. This too is a phenomenon absent in English.

India’s people harbor various forms of competitiveness, tug-of-war, and covert actions.

When a person perceived as high-status becomes weak, those positioned below do not support them. They see it as an opportunity to suppress that person.

Their eagerness is to turn Saar into Ningal and then into lowest you.

This too is a trait that has persisted among South Asian people through the ages.

However, in places where the status of an upper-caste person cannot be attained by a lower-caste person under any circumstances, the protection offered by higher word codes may persist.

In joint families formed through marriage and elsewhere, various competitions and word code dynamics may arise. While these may subside over time, many remain latent, awaiting an opportune moment.

Those who show no aversion or repulsion toward others are the lowest-caste individuals in Malabar’s communities. If someone back then addressed Ayaal by their name alone, Ayaal would have no complaints.

If someone addressed Ayaal as lowest you or eda, or their wife with similar words, Ayaal would have no issue with it.

This individual’s indifference may seem akin to that of an ordinary Englishman. However, the Englishman’s experience stems from the English language.

The experience of Malabar’s lowest-caste individual is different.

If this lowest-caste person gains even slight social elevation, everything changes drastically.

The individual may shift to a state where words can trigger massive emotional outbursts.

Hundreds of such invisible dynamics existed in Indian societies. They persist today.

Mountstuart Elphinstone’s view may have been that India’s diverse ethnic groups possessed countless admirable traits that the English couldn’t readily perceive or experience. But the reality is different.

The truth is likely that India’s people of that time engaged in countless malevolent acts toward each other, which the English couldn’t easily discern.

Primary education in India should aim to eradicate the thousands of malevolent traits mentioned above from its social environment.

No individual is at fault here, as they are trapped in a communication system overflowing with malevolence.

[VED]

The primary aim of formal primary education should be to instill various refined lifestyles in individuals living in society.

The foremost aspect of this is toilet training, an essential skill that civilized individuals must master.

English nations have traditionally placed great emphasis on this matter. It’s uncertain what changes may occur in the future, as these nations are increasingly populated by non-native language speakers.

In Malabar, in earlier times, most people used fields, riverbanks, seashores, and similar places for toileting. In some areas, pit latrines were used, with two pieces of coconut wood placed above them.

The English Company administration observed that landlord families had enslaved people from distant fields to carry away nightsoil.

Local feudal languages have the capacity to degrade the dignity of those performing this task.

In the 1980s, newly wealthy families from Gujarat and other regions began staying in India’s five-star hotels. Gradually, newly wealthy individuals from other linguistic groups followed.

Five-star hotels have Western commode toilets, which many of these newly wealthy Indians were unfamiliar with at the time.

I recall a conversation with someone working at the front office of a five-star hotel in an Indian metropolitan city during the 1980s. They said European guests posed no significant issues, but newly wealthy Indian guests would leave toilets in a filthy state.

This was reportedly an unbearable problem for the housekeeping staff.

I’ve had the chance to see toilets attached to Muslim mosques, which seemed to be maintained with great cleanliness.

When I asked an Islamic individual who cleans these toilets, the response was that different members of the congregation clean them daily as part of their spiritual commitment.

The presence of Muslim mosques in most parts of Malabar provides Muhammadans with a convenience akin to that enjoyed by ordinary people in England.

It seems that toilets in Christian churches are also maintained cleanly, though I don’t know who cleans them or whether workers are hired for wages to do so.

In Hindu (formerly Brahmin) temples and those currently defined as Hindu temples, I don’t know who cleans the toilets. It seems likely that a specific group of people is hired for wages to do this.

This is because many individuals categorized as Hindus today seem to lack proper toilet training.

Moreover, in some temples identified as Hindu, toilets are placed at a distance from the temple, likely for this reason, and they often feel like cramped spaces.

It seems that in the past, Islamic madrasas likely provided children with toilet-related instructions and training. As these children grew up and had their own children, those children likely received high-standard guidance from their parents.

Thus, mosque toilets tend to be clean, and cleaning them may not be an arduous task.

I don’t know if Christian churches provide such training alongside religious education.

For the diverse groups labeled as Hindus, this may indeed be a problem for some.

Additionally, local languages encourage viewing those who clean filthy toilets as filthy themselves.

Toilet training is a critical skill that must be instilled in India’s people, ideally by school teachers. However, it seems unlikely that teachers in schools where Indian languages are spoken would dare to undertake this.

During and after English rule, local people tried to degrade sanitary inspectors by calling them “thotti inspectors” (scavenger inspectors).

The reason is that when sanitary inspectors and the public interact, a tug-of-war over who holds higher status emerges in their words.

“If Inji tries to act superior, we’ll crush them with words,” becomes the battle cry.

Teachers providing toilet training risk being slapped with derogatory nicknames. If a teacher exerts too much authority, this could happen quickly.

If students are addressed as lowest you and made to clean toilets, it could slide into teaching them “scavenger work.”

In a social environment that degrades students, such training is a significant issue.

An online inquiry about the situation in England today revealed the following:

The number of toilets per student in UK schools varies by age group and location:

Under 5: One toilet for every 10 pupils

5–11: One toilet for every 20 pupils

Over 11: One toilet for every 20 pupils, plus as many basins as toilets

In Indian schools, the situation is quite deplorable. When I was in school, the toilet was a cramped room in an overgrown corner of the school grounds.

There’s an explanation in local languages for why such a cramped room is used as a toilet in a vast compound.

These toilets are not clean. No one cleans them, and there’s no water available.

Cleaning such toilets is indeed a distressing task, as they are used by children with no toilet training, making the process particularly upsetting.

I mentioned earlier in this writing about the latrine toilets at the Calicut private bus stand. They are as cramped and filthy as the mind of the person who designed them.

The situation in England today is slightly concerning. Typically, children joining schools would have learned toilet training from their parents, including ensuring toilets are clean after use.

However, some children of non-native language speakers now populating England may not have received this training from their parents.

While providing toilet training in schools is beneficial, the real issue is the local language itself. It fosters mutual repulsion among people.

In many Indian societies, these malevolent languages make carrying a bucket of water a source of embarrassment if seen by others.

After saying all this, one thought comes to mind.

Regarding people who escaped to the US from wild regions of the African continent as enslaved individuals: the English language’s pervasive presence in the US cultivated their advanced toilet usage knowledge.

It seems that the Irish were used as enslaved labor in the US, but they too likely used English among themselves.

Today, people in Ireland speak English. Their traditional Irish language is rarely used. Yet, English is also the language of England, which they swear is their traditional enemy.

On several Wikipedia pages, Indian academics add praise for India, including the claim that Indian toilets are cleaner than Western ones.

In India, people use squat toilets, where individuals sit like frogs. These toilets ensure that the user’s body doesn’t touch areas contacted by others’ bodies.

Thus, they are considered highly hygienic.

There is truth to this. However, an unspoken aspect is that in India, people view others with repulsion. Using Western commode toilets, which others have used, evokes repulsion for many.

[VED]

I began my formal education in a school under the Kerala Education Board in the fifth grade. However, just before that, I had the opportunity to closely observe high-quality English education.

When I suddenly transitioned to the Kerala syllabus, I should have felt a shock, but I don’t think that happened at the time.

It was a period of gradually understanding life and the world through touch and observation. Thus, my mind wasn’t ready for any critical evaluation.

Although I studied in the English medium under the Kerala syllabus from the fifth grade, the entire classroom and school environment in Travancore was dominated by Malayalam. Even the English taught felt like broken English, but there wasn’t a context to deeply reflect on this. Students were controlled like cattle and taught various things.

During the time my sisters studied in their English school, they won Enid Blyton books as prizes in various competitions. These books were at home, and I began reading them one by one back then.

This reconnected my mind to the world of communication in the English language. However, in the fifth grade, I didn’t meet anyone who had even heard of such books. The teachers were certainly in the same state.

Malayalam was taught as a subject. No one likely considered what kind of social image this language instilled in the mind, as the teachers had little meaningful connection with the English language.

History was taught, covering various kings and their wars. I couldn’t grasp the purpose of learning this.

Much later, I realized that what is taught as history often consists of artificially curated falsehoods.

Mathematics and science subjects were taught, but no one clearly explained their practical benefit to individuals. Marks were the focus. Teachers propagated the notion that those who scored high were intelligent, while those who didn’t were fools.

In the ninth grade, the math teacher declared that only those with high marks were needed “there.” He didn’t specify where “there” was. All he did was threaten that failing to score marks would ruin one’s future.

That year, a government order came: no “all pass” in exams; one or two students must fail.

In the tenth grade, I saw a ninth-grade classmate sitting in another class. When I asked why, Ayaal, suppressing deep humiliation, said he had failed the ninth grade.

What kind of education is this? Is formal education about humiliating a person who is otherwise like everyone else? I don’t know what should be done with the hero who issued such a government order.

It feels like an overreach to degrade someone by enrolling them in a foolish system that benefits 99.9% of people in no way.

Geography was taught. I understood the Earth’s axis and equator!

Only much later did I start reflecting on what school education was meant to achieve.

Developing job skills is one thing, but that shouldn’t be the goal of primary education. Job skills should be learned based on individual interests.

Moreover, spending ten, fifteen, or more years in school and college only leads to government jobs or paths to specialized professions requiring licenses.

No job comes from wasting so many years.

Those who waste years in formal education rarely admit the time lost.

Instead, they flaunt their credentials in society: “I studied up to tenth grade,” “I completed pre-degree,” “I’m a degree holder,” “I’m an engineering graduate.”

No one is ready to admit being duped by this foolish education system. Everyone wants to showcase their knowledge, skills, and certificates to outshine others.

Admitting that an engineering degree yielded no useful knowledge would be embarrassing.

Yet, nearly four decades ago, an engineering graduate confessed this to me.

Ayaal said that after studying mechanical engineering, he gained no significant knowledge beyond what he already knew about how vehicles work before starting the course.

At the time, Ayaal was aiming for a prestigious MBA graduation.

The key point is that no vehicle manufacturing company shares its technical knowledge with colleges for teaching. I’ll discuss related matters later.

Back then, I didn’t fully grasp the significance of Ayaal’s words, as I firmly believed engineers possessed advanced technical knowledge.

The writing seems to have leaped ahead of what I intended to say.

I was discussing primary education.

During English rule, those who directly experienced it developed an enthusiasm for their children to become like the English.

I don’t know if they realized that studying science and mathematics wasn’t the key to this.

Their children needed to learn the English language, which would bring significant change. Beyond that, one more thing was required: avoiding learning local feudal languages.

If a local feudal language is present in the mind, a key benefit of learning English is lost. When another person speaks in the local language, the English knowledge offers no advantage.

The egalitarian communication environment provided by English doesn’t function where local languages hold sway.

Primary education should aim to eliminate hierarchical attitudes devouring local society. This would enable individuals to take up any job, with only unappealing or tedious jobs posing barriers.

In local feudal languages, every job carries a heavy burden: does it evoke servility from others, or does it risk losing others’ subservience? Understand that this question doesn’t exist in English.

To illustrate, I’ll share a personal experience. Decades ago, for a few years, I drove four-wheeled vehicles daily across Kerala. Occasionally, I drove six-wheeled vehicles too.

Driving is immensely enjoyable. It’s a surreal experience, with new information constantly flooding through eyes and ears, filling the mind with delight.

I recall a conversation with someone who was once an auto-rickshaw driver and later a taxi jeep driver. Ayaal had started studying to become a lawyer after marriage.

Ayaal said he most enjoyed driving an auto-rickshaw because the next ride’s destination was always unpredictable.

However, the local feudal language denies this job the intoxication that being a lawyer provides. The latter fills the mind with delusions of others’ subservience and one’s own superiority.

Moreover, officials and locals define these two groups differently in local language terms.

While living in Trivandrum, during a conversation with an acquaintance striving for a government job, Ayaal asked what job I enjoyed.

I realized the social folly of my response at the time. I said driving a lorry is great fun. Ayaal’s expression clearly conveyed, “Are you mad?”

It’s not just the job’s enjoyment to consider but also the implications in the local language.

Primary education should target the hierarchical mindset consuming local society. It must instill in students the resolve to shoot down this attitude.

Next, I need to discuss the English textbook. That may come in the next writing, I presume.

[VED]

It cannot be said that Kerala government-paid teachers lack sincerity or interest in their profession. They demonstrate greater diligence than many other government officials.

Teachers are not responsible for the folly of formal primary education. Behind them, and beyond their control, is an invisible group, likely those who formulate education policy.

Their clear failure is a lack of understanding of the English education implemented during English rule in India or its objectives.

The only education they seem aware of is the local language-based education, which local elites, securing government grants, implemented in opposition to the English education of the original India.

The sole purpose of this second movement was likely to sabotage the goals of the first.

If English education under English rule aimed to curb the hierarchical mindset creeping into human minds through local languages, the second sought to instill in individuals, from childhood, the hierarchical attitudes of local languages, repulsion toward subordinates, and subservience toward superiors.

These policymakers are the propagators of this education.

Some among them may have faintly glimpsed sparks of English education’s brilliance. Though unable to comprehend its essence, they likely realize that if students and parents recognized these sparks, they would appear as clowns in public.

These policymakers don’t even know how to recite multiplication tables in English.

This education prioritizes making money somehow, offering little meaningful knowledge through primary education.

This claim needs clarification.

When I studied under the Kerala syllabus, I realized I lacked the local current affairs knowledge that teachers and classmates possessed.

I had no awareness of local politicians’ names, their movements, or their routine activities. This shortcoming persists in me today.

Everyone read Malayalam newspapers, which were the source of their knowledge.

In this education system, knowledge comes from reading available sources. Those with knowledge are deemed great; those without are insignificant.

Unlike in English, where admitting ignorance invites no ridicule and one can ask for clarification, Malayalam education’s philosophy doesn’t allow this.

It dictates that the knowledge-giver be revered as a guru, and only those capable of discipleship deserve knowledge.

Back then, Malayalam newspapers provided current affairs knowledge; today, smartphones do so for most.

Until the 1960s, I believe, schools following the Cambridge syllabus (I think) taught a particular English textbook. I won’t reveal its name here, but those who’ve seen it may recall it.

Its lessons had extraordinary beauty, unlike the charm of old Malayalam film songs, which are laced with the allure of social hierarchy, superiority, and subservience.

The English textbook didn’t treat the learner as a small-minded fool. Instead, it presented simple lessons as if addressing a mature individual, without requiring the learner to act as a disciple.

Both learners and teachers were defined in the textbook with egalitarian You, He, She terms.

Most lessons were stories or highly engaging articles, often drawn from exceptional English literary works.

Accompanying these were vibrant illustrations of children and others radiating English personality and high virtue.

In contrast, illustrations in government school English textbooks depict individuals as English speakers untouched by the language’s influence. This suggests a deliberate conspiracy.

It implants in the common person’s mind that learning English brings no change to individual or societal personality.

Returning to the mentioned English textbook: its lessons brimmed with simple, English-infused content. To clarify, consider this example.

Individuals are addressed formally with Mr., Mrs., Miss.

Terms like Uncle and Aunt are used in the English manner, e.g., Uncle Quentin, not Quentin Uncle.

From the fourth grade, diverse topics from English literature and world history appear in vivid, colorful illustrations, presented engagingly. These require no teacher to learn; only basic English literacy and a comfortable reading room are needed.

I say this because, while studying under the Kerala syllabus from the fifth grade, I occasionally read these textbooks up to the ninth grade.

These textbooks cannot be compared to Kerala Education Board’s. Side by side, the Kerala syllabus textbooks feel like creations of fools ignorant of English’s inner workings.

Parents exposed only to Kerala textbooks wouldn’t grasp this.

About twenty-five years ago, a person with limited English proficiency spoke in English at a public event at a newly established private English-medium school.

After the event, many parents approached him, asking if he could teach their children English.

He later told me about this. His English vocabulary and skills were poor then, and he admitted as much.

He said, “Those parents couldn’t tell I lack proficiency in English because they know nothing about it.”

This mirrors the Kerala syllabus situation. Under the guise of English education, students receive a low- or high-grade Malayalam-to-English translation and a curriculum designed to make them fools.

Most ordinary people lack the ability or time to recognize or worry about this.

They cannot envision the profound social transformation if their children learned high-quality English. They believe life’s success lies in their children scoring high marks to become doctors, engineers, lawyers, or government officials.

Those who don’t achieve this can escape to the Gulf to earn money.

No one tells the common person that expelling local languages and promoting high-quality English here would allow individuals to live with dignity, preserving their personality and respect for others, even without wealth, a doctorate, or a government job.

Malayalam education subtly advises avoiding subordination to others.

This useless education brings no societal change.

[VED]

Teachers are assigned dull textbooks to teach. Their job is to teach them, and most do so sincerely.

No one—students, ordinary people, or society—has any clear idea of the benefits of teaching or learning these foolish textbooks.

In the 1800s, English Company rule granted freedom to enslaved individuals through laws. Some freed slaves (Cherumars) began mimicking actions they saw their landlords perform.

A Cherumaman took his cattle to the market to sell, set a price, and bargained. He recalled his landlord bargaining but had no understanding of its purpose or direction.

When a buyer offered ten, the Cherumaman bargained, saying he couldn’t sell for ten and demanded at least nine.

This kind of foolishness mirrors what happened in school education. English rule implemented English education here with clear goals and direction.

New Indian state governments continued it in local languages, but no one understood its purpose.

English schools taught English grammar, focusing on sentence construction rules. In reality, high-quality English sentences can be written without studying grammar.

Malayalam grammar was taught, too, though people speak Malayalam without it. Still, grammar was taught because English education included it.

They taught keka, kakali, arthaantharanyaasam, upama, and more. It’s unclear what virtue cramming these into children’s minds achieves.

The most overlooked aspect is that English education treated students and teachers as equals, using You, he, She. This fosters unique mental maturity and elevation in students.

This mental elevation is the unwritten goal of English primary education.

Malayalam education, copying English education, couldn’t even conceive this goal.

All it could do was herd children, fostering boldness and loudness to create noise, march in streets, and shout slogans.

The philosophy that one must suppress others with noise and vigor to advance becomes a prized skill in students’ and society’s minds.

English education cultivates mental strength for calm communication.

Yet, local language education in new India aimed to devalue this mindset. This foolish education spread like a curse across Travancore, Malabar, and Alleppey’s kayal lagoons, like an African pestilence.

In this flawed education, students are at the bottom of the Ingal👆-Inji👇 hierarchy ladder, often below those in jobs defined in Malayalam as the lowest, especially if their parents are laborers.

Some teachers even view students through language tiers based on their parents’ occupational status.

Revisiting the English textbook from the previous chapter: searching online today yields no information about it, so thoroughly has its existence been erased from public memory.

Still, many Indians and Pakistanis who studied it in childhood discuss fond memories on online platforms.

Searching now reveals a “New” version with “New” prefixed to its title.

I saw this “New” textbook as a child. It retained some original lessons but omitted many, adding inferior ones claiming to reflect Indian history.

The aim was to foster patriotism toward India. Yet, most who studied it strive for visas to England or elsewhere.

Another observation: the new textbook’s layout design was childish. It treated Indian children as mentally immature, designing lessons patronizingly.

This likely stemmed from individuals steeped in Indian local language education’s mindset.

Remember, children are seen as equivalent to enslaved people at the bottom of the Ingal👆-Inji👇 ladder.

This creates a problem: how should teachers interact with children?

Teachers and ordinary people know to interact with children by glaring, addressing them as “paave,” “mone,” or “mole,” showing theatrics, forcing clownish acts, demanding answers to foolish questions, and more.

This comes from local languages, mirroring how people historically treated servants, slaves, and lower castes.

Knowing both this mindset and the English one, I decided to treat my first daughter with the English mindset. This was a linguistic experiment, not, as some misunderstood, excessive pampering.

The focus was to see what English communication could bring to an ordinary, non-high-caste person.

From about three months old, I spoke to her with care, as to a mature individual, giving clear answers in simple words.

I didn’t allow clownish talk or foolish questions. When she was engrossed in a book or activity, I firmly discouraged others from snatching it to make her chase it.

Yet, this is how other children are raised. No one here notices any developmental deficits in them.

If a landlord treated a Cherumaman or Pulayaman as an equal, seating them alongside and discussing grand matters, it would provoke ridicule and discomfort in others.

Cherumaman and Pulayaman must be seen as mentally immature and spoken to accordingly. This is the core and philosophy of Malayalam education.

They are at the abyss of the Ingal👆-Inji👇 ladder.

This issue arises when adults speak to children in Malayalam: they must use a childish tone.

This is how officials treat ordinary people, police treat those in custody, housewives treat maids, doctors treat common patients and companions, and more.

They speak as if commanding a fool.

To warn children against something, adults use “boo,” “be,” grim faces, wide eyes, rolling eyeballs, raised eyebrows, furrowed brows.

Yet, clearly explaining consequences would suffice for a child to understand.

Speaking this way to someone at the bottom of the Ingal👆-Inji👇 ladder would fluster them.

In the past, a landlord speaking thus to a Cherumaman would fluster him, as such a manner was unacceptable. It’s the same here.

If a police inspector speaks politely to an ordinary person as an equal, the person would be bewildered, then emboldened to act freely.

[VED]

From fifth to tenth grade, I studied in English-medium classes under the Kerala school syllabus, followed by pre-degree and a BSc in Physics.

The mindset among all was that classroom learning led to prestigious jobs. Those who failed were believed to end up in low-status jobs, as defined in local languages, living a stunted life.

Educated individuals who don’t secure government jobs, doctorates, engineering, or lawyering fall into the lower tiers of local language pronouns like nee, avan, aval.

But landing one of those prestigious jobs elevates one to live in the linguistic realm of old Nair to top-tier Namboothiri, with exalted versions of nee, avan, aval atop a high pedestal.

Educated people missing these jobs but migrating to English-speaking countries take up locally deemed low-status work without distress. They may return to live in grand homes but rarely choose to.

This shows, without needing great scholarship, that something is deeply wrong with education in Indian languages.

My personal inclinations may have stemmed from a perspective shaped by a unique mental vantage point.

From fifth to tenth grade, I read numerous English novels and classics, which didn’t depict today’s English world but a distinct one. I’ll discuss these literary works shortly.

Most classmates were unaware such a world existed, though a few knew.

Students who understood the world through local language newspapers, All India Radio news, and parental talk saw their teachers as great gurus and supreme scholars.

They considered it improper to look teachers in the eye or discuss matters with them.

But I seemed to feel teachers lacked significant knowledge. I don’t recall sharing this with anyone, nor did I engage in school mischief.

Yet, my belief that teachers were uninformed may not have been entirely correct. While they may not have known the English world in my mind, they likely had deep knowledge of worldly, social, and Malayalam literary matters.

Malayalam textbooks contained beautiful literary works, enjoyable to read.

But my thought was: why force students to study these? These engaging works overflowed with the euphoria of upholding local social hierarchies.

No one seemed to notice this specifically.

Thus, I felt teaching such knowledge should be discouraged. But such a perverse mindset held no value.

Students and parents don’t aim for social reform. They focus solely on reaching high positions, regardless of what happens to society or others.

Most teachers didn’t show significant hostility toward me, as I recall.

Yet, once, absorbed in a book when a teacher entered, I didn’t stand. After sitting, he called my name. When I approached, he slapped my face.

The reason: failing to show subservience.

In a class of about forty, pinpointing one student’s lapse in subservience highlights the importance teachers and society placed on it.

Another teacher, in front of others, pointed at my acne and asked if it was an itch.

In Ernakulam, at a mediocre school, I got an English chemistry textbook. Its lessons were beautifully presented, so I read it like a novel.

This may have irritated the teacher during lessons, as I already knew the material.

During an exam, I noticed a multiple-choice question with two correct answers.

I wrote both. But it was marked wrong, and I got no marks. When asked why, the teacher, with some zeal, said not to give two correct answers.

In tenth grade, my family instructed me to attend math tuition at a teacher’s house.

I didn’t know this teacher, nor had he taught me.

One afternoon, I went to his house.

He asked why I came. I said I was sent for tuition and gave my name.

He seemed flustered, saying, “Is that you?” while looking around anxiously.

I joined other students, sometimes alone, in simple studies. Often, our conversations were in English.

We discussed boundaries of math and thermodynamics.

Months later, at school’s end, he said, “You are really a nice boy. What all I heard about you!”

I noticed teachers held no anger toward mischievous students, as they showed subservience and accepted punishment.

But something offbeat in my mindset, speech, words, stance, and gait likely stood out.

In reality, I was living through a harrowing life experience then, which I can’t discuss now.

Imagine a parade where all march Left-Right, but one marches Right-Left, hearing commands like About turn, Right turn, Left turn differently.

This could quickly be labeled mental deviation or waywardness.

But I felt the parade’s drumbeat as the wingbeat of a distinct human personality granted by English.

To those unaware of this, living and acting to this rhythm could easily seem like human voice audio hallucination.

During school, I thought teaching good English and some math would suffice. With English proficiency, a good library, and a reading room, one could gain ample knowledge independently.

Dedicating much of daily education to sports like football, volleyball, and swimming would naturally foster great mental and physical growth.

But such athletic skills should be given to those highly proficient in English.

Giving athletic prowess to those steeped in languages like Malayalam risks creating old Nair overlords—physically strong, handsome, weapon-skilled, and supervisory—who oppressed others, as history shows.

Primary education’s goal shouldn’t be crafting such menacing personalities, I felt.

[VED]

I didn’t write the pre-degree exam for certain reasons. I wrote it the following year.

Consequently, I had to stay in Deverkovil for nearly a year. That was, at the time, an extremely challenging life experience. I won’t delve into that now.

However, looking back, it was then that I truly understood the depth of English education during the English rule. At home, Mrs. CPS had studied many English texts for school, Intermediate, and BA, which were kept in a cupboard.

Since life was utterly dull during that period, I began reading those books one by one. Admittedly, some were too difficult to read.

One or two of Shakespeare’s plays in their full form. I don’t consider these English classical literature. I won’t go into that now either.

Charles Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities (Unabridged)
Sir Walter Scott’s A Legend of Montrose (Unabridged)
R. L. Stevenson’s Kidnapped (Unabridged)
Several parts of Thomas Carlyle’s lengthy French Revolution

There was a large book by W.M. Thackeray, which I believe was The History of Henry Esmond (Unabridged). I didn’t read it due to its size and small print.

Then, I came across histories of England studied in various classes.

Next was John Milton’s Paradise Lost, a poetry book. I’ve always had little interest in English poetry.

I painstakingly read one of Shakespeare’s plays, Much Ado About Nothing! I read it solely because it was by a renowned playwright. That experience extinguished all my interest in Shakespeare’s works.

Nevertheless, I’ve read some lines from his Sonnets as needed, as well as Mark Antony’s speech from Julius Caesar.

However, I believe that no work of Shakespeare should be taught in classrooms to foster an elevated social atmosphere that permeates both mind and body.

The reason is that it would be like teaching Kalidasa’s works.

I feel that the books listed from 1 to 4 above would be challenging for most teachers I encountered during my college life to read.

The books listed from 1 to 4 were occasionally read in small portions during high school and when visiting Deverkovil.

During my studies in Quilon, my interest in reading English classical literature grew through books borrowed from the Municipal Library near Kacheri Junction and the large Public Library near Chinnakada.

While studying for my degree in Trivandrum, my enthusiasm for reading numerous English texts from the Public Library in Palayam stemmed from this same interest.

One might wonder what the use is of reading such English classical literary works.

Once, during a conversation about such matters, a young man claimed he had read a Charles Dickens novel in its entirety. He didn’t seem to have much proficiency in English at the time. When pressed, he admitted he had read its Malayalam translation.

I see no significant benefit in reading such a Malayalam translation. The reason is that, when written in Malayalam, it becomes merely a Malayalam story.

What would it be like if human stories were written in the language of rats? That’s the kind of transformation that would happen to Charles Dickens’ work.

How did I muster the audacity to make such a bold claim?

All 18 volumes of this writing can be found at the link provided above. Most of the matters written therein are things an Englishman couldn’t conceive, understand, or imagine. Yet, they are part of material reality.

From this perspective, it becomes clear that Englishmen and Malayalam-speaking people are, in essence, two distinct species. I plan to discuss more related matters later.

Why do we read English novels and literary works? Don’t we have Cherusseri, Ulloor, Vallathol, Kottarathil Shankunni, the eighteen-and-a-half poets, Poonthanam, and Poonthanam’s Jnanappana?

A couple of points can be made in this regard.

When individuals write about South Asian countries, their social matters, royal families, and local figures, they introduce readers to society starting from those at the lower levels, gradually moving up to the elites.

This is likely done by revering Nair Thampurans, Madambis, Swaroopam families, royal families, Namboodiri Illams, and others at each level.

This creates an image and disposition in the reader’s mind of these minor individuals and families as great figures living above the common masses.

If an ordinary person enters a police department today, even the lowest-ranking constable would make them revere the Head Constable, ASI, SI, DySP, ASP, SP, DIG, IG, and DGP, instilling a sense of inferiority in that person.

Yet, that same person might also feel superior to others like themselves, because they’ve had the privilege of revering such high-ranking figures and earning their good name.

A similar disposition can arise in individuals through modern academic historical studies.

When reading social and historical writings by English speakers and other British people from the English rule period about India and South Asian regions like Travancore, a different disposition enters the reader’s mind.

In English words like he, his, him, she, her, hers, they, their, and them, when referring to social elites, their eminence isn’t diminished, yet the reader never feels demeaned.

Such literary works that foster this disposition in ordinary people should be taught in Malabar. That’s what permeated English education in British Malabar.

Isn’t teaching English literature just a British trade tactic? Weren’t they trying to make people like themselves?

What must be understood is that no elite family in South Asia with even a modicum of wisdom would teach their skills, language, or literature to those below them. Would an elite family try to make a lower person like their own?

If they did, the lower classes would, within a few generations, displace them from their positions.

This is the folly the English administration actually committed. I won’t delve into that now.

Now, let’s consider what happens when South Asian literary works are internalised.

In Brahmin regional language literary works, the sense of hierarchy persists without any deliberate intent. If a lower-class person studies these, the same disposition will take root in them.

If Pulayans, Pariahs, or Cherumans are elevated to IAS or IPS positions through job reservations, they will rise to high ranks. They will become the new bearers of Brahmin-like dispositions. They will be addressed as adheham, oru, or olu, and their families will rise similarly. Yet, other Pulayans, Pariahs, and Cherumans will remain as they were.

Studying the Vedas or other Sanskrit works might make one feel they are a Brahmin. It seems Sree Narayana Guru also developed this disposition. It appears he issued a warning against being depicted as an Ezhava.

If one reads the works of Ezhavas from Travancore during that period, the social struggle reflected in them will take root in the reader.

For example, studying Kumaran Asan’s poetry might make one want to raise their fist, look upward, and shout, “Change the rules!”—in other words, foster a sense of being a lower-class person.

Internalising the literary works of Pulayans, Pariahs, and others will teach the mind their behaviours, dispositions, subservience to the elite, and disdain for those they don’t value.

This could lead to an individual’s social degradation.

Mappila songs are indeed beautiful. However, studying Mappila literature also imbues one with the regional social hierarchy’s ebbs and flows.

Even when singing the glories of Islam, Muhammad, Khadija, Aisha, and others, they are placed at the highest echelons of Malabari and Malayalam terms, as Thirumeni or Beevi, while ordinary people remain at the lower levels.

If this is claimed to be Islamic education, that too must be questioned. But that’s not even conceivable for those thinking in regional languages.

Is this what we should spend valuable time and great effort studying?

If time is spent on education, it should not only free the individual from the tug-of-war of regional social culture but also cultivate the most refined English social personality in them.

[VED]

In the previous chapter, I mentioned the books Mrs. CPS studied under the English rule’s education system. Many of those have faded from my memory. However, one book that suddenly came to mind is Rabindranath Tagore’s novel Home and the World.

Rabindranath Tagore was a citizen of India, which existed until 1947, and a Nobel Prize-winning author. I recall that the novel portrayed Gandhi and his followers as a sort of street ruffians.

Mrs. CPS’s educational qualification is a BA in Economics. Yet, I never once heard her discuss anything related to economics or economic theory.

However, she would often speak authoritatively about English literature. Bear in mind, she did not have a BA in English.

When I once asked if she had ever applied the economics she studied for her BA in life, she brushed off the question and replied,

I ran the household with my knowledge of economics!

The English rule’s education system in India (original India) established various BA degrees, such as BA English and BA Economics, as educational qualifications. However, one might ask what overall benefit a person gains from acquiring such diverse BA degrees.

For individuals growing up entangled in various domestic and societal constraints, attending school or college daily and mingling with peers can provide a sense of mental freedom. It offers opportunities to participate and compete in many new activities.

When viewed holistically, this can be considered an educational qualification.

Living in a festival market might yield a similar experience. However, the drawback is that no educational certificate is awarded.

Yet, the question remains: what do the subjects studied for a BA impart to the mind?

The English rule’s education system had an unwritten goal: to cultivate English language influence, proficiency, and perspective among the youth.

While studying for a BA in college, the influence of the English language subtly permeates the student’s mind and body, evolving into a form of social refinement.

However, if these BA subjects are translated into Malayalam, this effect does not occur. It’s crucial to understand clearly what happens instead.

Someone must ask what purpose is served by teaching such subjects.

Yet, no one bothers to do so. The enthusiasm in everyone is to conform to conventions, outdo others, and elevate their own status.

There are numerous BAs, MAs, BScs, MSCs, PhDs, and more in the education system of modern India. Collectively, these pour heaps of information, erudition, professional skills, and the like into the nation and its people every year.

However, no discernible influence is seen in the nation or its people. On the contrary, these heaps of BA, MA, BSc, MSc, and PhD qualifications erode the innate personality and skills individuals naturally possess.

Those who don’t internalise this rubbish develop a profound sense of inferiority.

Those who do internalise it refuse to admit that they wasted valuable time on useless rubbish.

Yet, it’s also true that these qualifications aren’t entirely useless today. They hold significant value, enshrined in legal frameworks, for securing government jobs, high-level private sector positions, and even applying for passports.

After completing their degrees, many students felt that their years of study were useless. Their goal became to secure a government job, preferably in a department offering substantial bribes.

If achieved, they’d realise their rubbish education wasn’t a waste. Without it, they’d be like Travancore’s lower-caste individuals—unable to secure government office jobs.

Kerala’s social progress today stems from the mesmerising prosperity brought by overseas workers, enabled by the devaluation of the Indian rupee. This prosperity spreads across the state.

Additionally, high-quality clothing, homes with advanced technological amenities, TVs, computers, smartphones, and more contribute.

This progress has no connection to rubbish education.

The government education provided in Kerala is similar to that in other states. However, without foreign income reaching the masses elsewhere, their social conditions remain deplorable.

Economics, Commerce, English, Law, Sociology, Political Science, History, Business Administration, Psychology, Journalism, Philosophy—these are among the BA subjects. Then there are various subjects under BSc, BTech, and others.

Only those bitten by these subjects typically understand their contents.

It’s like the saying that those bitten by Dracula become Dracula. Those who study these subjects claim their qualifications hold immense value.

However, the public, who sustain this education system at great financial cost, should ask: what benefit do these rubbish qualifications bring to society and the public?

Readers must not forget that it was uneducated people from England who created the social frameworks of Australia, USA, Canada, and New Zealand. Does India’s higher education instil in students the communicative excellence of those uneducated individuals?

Are the graduates emerging from these educational institutions learned individuals who treat people with great respect?

In the topsy-turvy path of my life, I’ve had opportunities to directly encounter various educational subjects. I plan to write about them in the next piece.

[VED]

In school education, I’ve already mentioned the discontinuation of the "all pass" system. Back then, I realised that children of influential people would never be failed, no matter the reason. In other words, it’s the children of onu and avan, olu and aval, who get failed.

This came to mind just now, so I’ve noted it here.

What I intended to write about today is what I mentioned in the previous piece—namely, the numerous subjects in education.

If you have a certificate proving some knowledge in a subject, you might aim to use it to secure a high position in a university, or roles like Head of Department, Professor, Reader, or Lecturer in a college.

Studying these subjects makes students feel they can imagine grand things, like the image of an elephant, and achieve great feats. Additionally, these barren subjects create numerous well-paying government jobs, while the qualifications obtained from them are set as the minimum requirement for such roles.

Most government jobs have little to do with these educational qualifications. Yet, they’re designated as necessary, as if to say, “Let there be a qualification.”

I won’t delve deeper into this now, as I’ve decided to take a different path today.

My decision in 1984 or so to study for the IAS (Civil Service) exam first brought me close to various educational subjects.

However, even before that, I had engaged with degree subjects not my own, by acting as a scribe for blind students during their exams in the exam hall.

The concept is that the candidate dictates, and I write. I can’t go into that now either.

For the Civil Service exam, you must study two different subjects. I’ll share more details about that later.

In that context, I discussed various degree subjects, both mentally and otherwise.

For the main exam, I chose Political Science and International Relations and History.

Both were unfamiliar to me. Still, thanks to my general knowledge of the English language, which facilitates casual reading, I bought and read guidebooks written for the Civil Service main exam in these subjects. They were expensive but of high quality.

I wrote the Civil Service Preliminary exam in Cochin, choosing Political Science and International Relations as my optional subject.

Later, I moved to Bangalore. A neighbour, a professor, told me about a renowned college there offering Civil Service coaching.

So, I joined that coaching. I’ll share more about such coaching later.

I received news that I had passed the Civil Service Preliminary exam.

In the first class, the professor teaching Political Science gave everyone a topic to write an essay on, to be done at home.

I recall the subject being: The strategic importance of the Indian Ocean, from International Relations.

I had little knowledge of the subject then. Still, based on my general knowledge, I wrote the essay.

I wrote about Diego Garcia, a British-owned island, and the US military base there; the armed American presence in Ceylon (now Sri Lanka); how West Pakistan (now Pakistan) and East Pakistan (now Bangladesh), when one nation, had to navigate around India through the Indian Ocean; how this was a significant factor aiding India in the 1972 Indo-Pak war; how the deployment of the US 7th Fleet in Diego Garcia saved a demoralised Pakistan from Indian military aggression; the potential for direct confrontation between Communist China and the US in this ocean; the relationship between Japan and the US; and India’s ties with the Soviet Union. I wrote about these and more.

Additionally, I likely mentioned Voice of America broadcasts relayed by Ceylon Radio. I’m unsure if that’s accurate.

Moreover, I might have included trivial details from English war novels and spy novels I’d read, like those by Alistair MacLean, whose name pops into my mind for some reason.

I can’t say for certain if the above details are accurate or if I included them all in that essay.

Today, writing such an essay would be effortless. The internet, Google Search, and AI would trivialise such a task.

In the next Political Science class, the professor held two essays, weighing them in his hands as if comparing them, staring with wide eyes.

One was mine. The other, I learned, was by someone who won a gold medal in Political Science MA at the university.

Addressing the class, the professor said these two essays were excellent.

But, holding up mine, he added one more thing.

This is an outstanding essay. I’ve never seen one like it before. But it won’t fetch any marks in a Political Science exam.

What to say!
Being outstanding isn’t enough. Every academic subject has its own technical terminology, which must be used extensively and appropriately in the essay.

That’s what my writing lacked.

From the numerous technical terms in Political Science, I’ve selected a few to list below:

1. Autonomy 2. Balance of Power
3. Caucus 4. Charter
5. Civics 6. Civil Liberty
7. Colonisation 8. Colony
9. Committee 10. Commonwealth
11. Democracy 12. Détente
13. Dominion 14. Domino Theory
15. Embargo 16. Extraterritoriality
17. Geopolitics 18. Imperialism
19. Initiative 20. International Relations
21. Lobbying 22. Local Government
23. Military Government 24. Nationality
25. Nonviolent Resistance 26. Parliamentary Law
27. Plebiscite 28. Pragmatic Sanction
29. Propaganda 30. Referendum
31. Sanction 32. Sovereignty
33. Sphere of Influence 34. Foreign Government Agencies
35. International Affairs: Diplomacy 36. International Organisations
37. Military Affairs 38. Naval and Nautical Affairs
39. United Nations
From these, select seven or eight technical terms and focus on them. Write an International Relations context for each.

The professor’s advice was this:

Showing knowledge alone won’t earn marks. Exam papers are evaluated based on clear criteria. The presence of technical terminology earns marks.

At the same time, the terminology must be supported by relevant explanations.

In the next piece, I plan to write about the things I noted in Political Science and International Relations.

[VED]

History was not a subject I was entirely unfamiliar with. The main reason for this was that, around the 10ᵗʰ standard, a classmate gave me a massive book to read, Glimpses of World History, attributed to Nehru.

I read many chapters of this book multiple times. As a result, I was able to mentally organise various events from world history, Indian history, and more, in their well-known chronological order.

However, Political Science was a completely new experience. The inclusion of the word “Science” in its name alone was enough to spark curiosity.

Back then, many believed that science subjects were for those with superior intellect, while arts subjects were for those somewhat lacking in intellectual prowess.

The perception was that science equates to logical knowledge. Those who study science become space researchers, doctors, engineers, and the like. Those who don’t, supposedly, resort to all sorts of trivial antics to get by.

Studying subjects like English, Political Science, Sociology, or Economics often leads people to teach these subjects in schools or colleges.

In other words, they gain little practical use from what they studied, so they trap the next generation in the same predicament.

However, since a degree is a basic requirement for many government jobs, such degrees can be beneficial. But if a government job isn’t secured, one ought to question what all those years of study were for. Yet, this question doesn’t seem to arise in anyone.

My graduation was in Physics. In the physics lab, we conducted various experiments. If all those studying physics aim to reach its lofty heights, these experiments might be marginally useful. Still, there’s another point to make.

I’d heard that preparing for the Civil Service exam requires studying at a BA (Honours) level—somewhere between a BA and an MA. Studying a subject at this level from scratch takes just one year.

This is entirely feasible. So why are such subjects taught at the end of a decade or more of education? These are things anyone can learn at any time, yet years are wasted teaching them.

In an earlier chapter, I mentioned that I joined BSc after taking the 2nd Group, meaning I hadn’t studied mathematics. BSc requires advanced mathematics—calculus, trigonometry, and more. I had no foundational knowledge of these.

So, I attended tuition. The tutor said no prior knowledge was needed to learn these subjects from scratch.

Years later, through various realisations, I understood that anyone can study any subject without wasting years in schools and colleges.

Physics, Chemistry, Biology, Geology—all can be learned informally and directly, if government systems allow it. Proficiency in English makes this even easier.

In truth, decades ago, engineering studies could be pursued from home. I won’t delve into that now.

While studying for my BSc, a classmate excitedly shared that a new university in Tamil Nadu had started a Physics graduation through their distance education programme, meaning one could study Physics from home.

His argument was that those studying this way wouldn’t have the same knowledge as college students. Conducting trivial measurements with tuning forks and simple pendulums in a college lab supposedly builds great knowledge, yet everyone still aims for government jobs.

Here, it’s worth noting that those working in commercial and industrial sectors perform tasks far more complex than these experiments daily.

Now, back to Political Science.

What stood out while studying this subject was learning about how human society is socially structured, through philosophical treatises written by various thinkers over centuries.

First, these don’t fit the definition of science. Not only are many not credible, but they’re conceived without any understanding of language as a powerful social design software.

Reading these in English familiarises one with the names of Western thinkers and related English terms.

For example, I first encountered the word “Pragmatism” while studying this subject.

But I can’t say what would stick in one’s mind if these were studied in a language like Malayalam.

Languages like Malayalam have a beastly nature. Concepts like human dignity or natural rights, defined in English as human rights, might seem like mere buffoonery in such languages.

I recall Political Science discussing topics like political education and social education. However, I firmly believe the foundation of these concepts stems from unadulterated English.

It’s worth noting that the idea of a successful person treating a downtrodden one with respect only emerged in South Asia after the arrival of the English East India Company.

The Malabar Manual describes several instances of Nair soldiers brutally slaughtering surrendered enemies. Even the Company’s own soldiers, tasked with safely escorting surrendered enemies to Cannanore, once interrogated and hacked them to death en route, including women and children.

This was often a headache for the English Company. When the Mysore army surrendered to the Company at Palghat, their explicit request was for protection from the Nairs.

The chief condition of surrender was effective protection against the Nairs, who had joined Colonel Stuart and were employed in the blockade; but on the fire of the place being silenced, crowded the trenches and batteries, anxious for sanguinary retaliation, which it required very exact arrangements to prevent.

The notion that all are human only spread in various parts of the world after English rule arrived.

When discussing social education, I recall that only a few drivers on the road exhibit its evidence. Those few who display refined social education while driving don’t seem to have degrees in Political Science either.

I’d like to write about social education and driving on the road. If possible, I’ll do so later.

I once had a serious discussion with a lawyer about the redundancy of mandatory formal education. He argued eloquently in polished English, but I countered every point adeptly.

In the end, he threw up his hands and said the crux of it: What do we do with children? Don’t we need to keep them occupied somewhere?

In other words, formal education is a grand scheme to keep children, teenagers, and youth in check. It yields no significant public benefit.

Yet, some leverage their qualifications to secure high-level government jobs reserved for them.

Returning to the IAS exam, I must first address some points about History and International Relations as part of Political Science.

[VED]

First, let’s discuss technical terminology.

Such terms are used not only in academic subjects but also in various professional fields.

These terms often have a highly defining quality. That is, they imprint a precise definition in the mind about a fact, procedure, or characteristic. Moreover, these definitions come with clearly established boundaries.

Instead of repeatedly providing a lengthy explanation, technical words (or terminology) enable comprehension through a single word or a few words.

For example, a technical term used several times recently in this writing is ingal👆 - inhi👇 ladder. This term can evoke the image of a specific social structure in a discussion where it’s understood.

Masons, carpenters, doctors, engineers, marketing professionals, lawyers, and others use their own technical terms.

I understand that these terms are often used deliberately, sometimes even with cunning intent.

Such words greatly aid in exchanging information, advice, explanations, warnings, and more among those collaborating in the same professional field.

Furthermore, using these terms signals clearly to both the users and those who encounter them regularly or occasionally that they operate within a specific professional field or platform.

Another incentive for using technical terms is the ability to communicate in a way that’s incomprehensible to outsiders, allowing discreet exchange of ideas among peers.

An additional benefit is that it may create the impression among others that one is handling complex, esoteric matters.

Technical terms have also been developed in academic subjects. The motivations for creating them, as mentioned above, can be either beneficial or malicious.

However, I’ve often felt that some academic subjects are like hollow treasure chests filled solely with technical terms, lacking substance. This is indeed a problem, and I’ll discuss it further shortly.

Now, let’s turn to history, starting with Glimpses of World History, attributed to Nehru.

Due to being the author of this book, many describe Nehru as a renowned historian. In my youth, this book was one of my favourites, filling me with great admiration for Nehru.

During his imprisonment in places like Naini, Bareilly, and Dehradun, Nehru reportedly read books from the prison libraries and wrote letters to his daughter as a form of historical study, which were later published as this book.

This may have been a remarkable effort. Instead of wasting time in prison, he studied history, documented his findings, and turned them into a book.

Many see Nehru’s greatness in this. However, what’s overlooked is the extraordinary comfort the English administration provided him in prison.

I doubt the modern Indian government would offer such facilities to any political prisoner.

Nehru wasn’t the only one granted such comforts by the Indian government.

While in school, I often praised Glimpses of World History to others. But once, an older person told me plainly that the book was a plagiarism of The Outline of History by English historian H.G. Wells.

I haven’t verified the extent of this claim. Still, a cursory examination of Glimpses of World History reveals that Nehru merely rewrote material from other books.

A historian shouldn’t be just a rewriter.

To clarify, consider these names: Alauddin Khilji, Ashoka, Anakundi Krishna Rayar, Akbar, Ajatashatru, Harsha, Vikramaditya, Haidar Ali.

These are all known to have been kings ruling various South Asian kingdoms in different eras. However, I believe a historian is someone who independently discovers who among them lived and ruled in which kingdom and in what chronological order.

Whether someone who reads a book by such a discoverer, copies it, and writes another can be called a historian is unclear.

It seems H.G. Wells compiled numerous historical figures and events in a clear chronological order. If so, that’s an original work and creation.

Writing another historical book following this chronological order should be seen as just that—a rewritten book by someone who isn’t a historian, based on reading historians’ works.

On a related note, something painstakingly created by one person can often be easily improved by another.

With minor refinements here and there, a new creation tenfold better than the original can be crafted. This applies to articles, books, film stories, and screenplays.

Another point, from my brief experience with Delhi’s book publishing industry, is that books written by authors are edited by highly skilled linguists. Sometimes words, sentences, paragraphs, or even chapters are rewritten, and unnecessary writing is removed.

This process results in a beautifully printed book. This likely happened with Nehru’s book, a standard practice in publishing.

For Nehru’s book, history-trained content writers may have made various revisions and additions.

Considering what might have been taken from H.G. Wells’ work, I suspect it’s the chronological order of historical events, a highly complex task.

Each king, event, kingdom, and region must be precisely linked with the timelines of countless other kings, events, kingdoms, and regions. Doing this anew is undoubtedly challenging.

As an Englishman, H.G. Wells likely couldn’t fully grasp world historical events. The fact that most regions and peoples outside England weren’t English regions or peoples posed a problem.

It’s known that H.G. Wells called Ashoka Ashoka the Great! This is foolish, suggesting Wells didn’t understand South Asia.

Another point is that the English East India Company encountered, in South Asia, regions and people at the tail end of centuries-old events. While it’s clear these had numerous historical events behind them, no historical writing was found anywhere.

It was through the persistent efforts of Company officials that South Asia’s histories, myths, Vedas, Upanishads, and more were uncovered.

Before that, there were only dilapidated palaces and forts, functioning or ruined temples, small groups managing them, many deemed too lowly to enter, and Sanskrit spiritual literature confined to a few Brahmin landowner families.

[VED]

One of the optional subjects I chose for the Civil Service exam was History. History is something that can be easily absorbed by casual reading. However, when studying for an exam, one must precisely memorise details like dates, names of individuals, names of battles, and more.

It was only after the establishment of the English East India Company in South Asia that a prominent entity began systematically studying the region’s past. Before that, the stories from puranas and other tales, repeatedly recited in Brahmin gatherings, were considered history by many.

However, most people likely didn’t think about such trivial information. Many events may have occurred in this subcontinent in ancient times, but what’s the point of researching and studying them?

Consider this perspective as well.

For most people in Tellicherry, there would be little connection with places outside the Kottayam kingdom. For such a population, what interest could there be in events from thousands of years ago in the Magadha kingdom or Delhi, located two or three thousand kilometres away?

Most people wouldn’t even have heard of anyone beyond their great-grandfather’s generation.

After the English Company established a nation in this subcontinent, uncovering the ancient history of various regions was a monumental effort. I won’t delve into that now.

In the historical writings of English Company officials, there’s typically no political or ideological bias. However, it was clear to them that many groups living here were extremely backward, distinctly primitive, and savage in nature.

Focusing solely on the intermittent conflicts, mutual fights, massacres, plundering, and abductions of women in each region is insufficient, as these could be justified as part of warfare.

In that sense, such pastimes could be claimed as the prerogative of heroic warriors.

However, the savagery of this region wasn’t limited to these.

Burning alive women widowed at a young age is not an act of heroic valour on a battlefield.

Similarly, in the northern regions, there existed for centuries a caste or ethnic group called Thuggees, who lived as ordinary members of society.

They displayed their skills during peaceful times. Using great friendliness as a shield, strategy, and weapon, they would kill wealthy merchants on long-distance roads. In their own regions, they were often prominent figures.

Another reality was the feudal languages that enveloped everything and everyone, shaping the social structure.

There were highly spiritual elites, temple-dwelling intermediaries below them, and people like Nairs beneath them, wielding significant economic and physical authority.

Below all of them were layers of semi-slaves competing among themselves, and beneath them, full slaves perceived as semi-animals.

Yet, before the English Company’s arrival, there seems to have been no discussion in this land about human slavery. This is likely because slaves weren’t seen as human in these regions.

Thus, the issue of human slavery didn’t arise!

Cows and chickens may be kept in servitude, but that’s not human slavery. Similarly, the enslavement of lower classes was viewed as akin to such servitude.

Another observation by English Company officials was that this subcontinent had around two or three thousand kingdoms. However, many of these maintained their royal status by securing licenses from larger kings.

Among them, Mughal kings were seen as great rulers and emperors. Their military strength came from soldiers provided by their vassal kings.

Another point noted by Company officials was the vast Sanskrit literary tradition hidden within Brahmin families, linked to Brahmin temples. The tone and melody of Sanskrit mantras likely astonished English officials.

Then there’s the presence of Islamic believers. Among them were both socially elite and extremely marginalised groups.

Most of the marginalised were likely those who converted to Islam from semi-human slave groups to escape social enslavement. Many of them likely couldn’t fully shed their primitive traits.

High-ranking Muslims probably viewed them with tolerance, while other lower classes likely regarded them with hostility.

If there were communal clashes between Hindu kings and high-ranking Muslims, they were likely minimal.

This is because the greatest fear for all social elites was the rise of those beneath them. This was something no elite, in any form, could tolerate. In this regard, both groups of social elites would stand united.

Thus, Brahmin families, royal families, and high-ranking Muslims likely maintained amicable relations.

Ordinary Islamic elites wouldn’t typically attempt to reform or control Brahmin customs. Similarly, Brahmins likely viewed Islamic practices with tolerance.

Generally, harsh cruelties persisted as part of local customs, royal authority, and landowner power. In this, Islamic kings, Islamic landowners, Hindu kings, and Hindu landowners were likely of the same ilk.

This is documented by Al-Biruni, who travelled through parts of South Asia around 1000 AD.

In one place, upon seeing a crowd, he inquired about the matter. He learned that a group of women were about to be forced into a pit to be burned alive.

These women were seemingly pacified with various spiritual ideas and possibilities to prepare them for such an act.

Once they jumped into the pit, they were immediately set ablaze, and heavy wooden logs were rolled over those attempting to escape.

Hearing the screams, drumbeats, and the crowd’s cheers, Al-Biruni reportedly fainted and fell from his horse.

The fleeting peace in each kingdom and region was merely a matter of coexisting with local primitive savagery.

It’s also recorded that periodic wars controlled the population.

A recurring curse in many places was that siblings from the same royal family would clash after each king’s death.

This is noted in William Henry Sleeman’s writings, where Mughal emperor Aurangzeb clearly told his learned teacher:

And ought not you to have considered that one day I should be obliged, with the sword, to dispute my life and the crown with my brothers? Is not that the destiny, almost of all the sons of Hindustan?

Aurangzeb laments that he had to fight and slaughter his brothers to emerge victorious—a seemingly inexorable fate for royal families in Hindustan.

Aurangzeb succeeded through the land’s cruelty, displaying immense cruelty himself. He cunningly trapped his own brother, Dara Shikoh.

Yet, in another sense, this cruel Aurangzeb also attempted to be a great social reformer. He tried to ban sati.

This was likely seen as an intrusion into Brahmin customs by the Rajput kings, the backbone of the Mughal empire.

It seems they didn’t permit it, viewing it as an affront to the human rights of their heroic women.

Regarding sati, Sleeman records an incident that must not be overlooked. He witnessed a 65-year-old woman offer her body to the flames as a sati, without a single scream.

Another sati-related incident I plan to write about in the next piece.

[VED]

As various regions of South Asia came under the control of the English East India Company, the moral responsibility of establishing high-quality administrative systems fell upon the Company.

If local individuals were entrusted with district administration, no matter how much training, warnings, or procedures were provided, they would operate solely through their inherent personal networks. Consequently, the Company had to bring people from England to govern the India they were building.

However, in the early 1800s, people from England were reluctant to undertake such perilous sea voyages to work in India.

Yet, many young individuals saw this journey and job as a grand adventure and began working as Company officials in India.

It’s understood that some who served as District Collectors in Bengal and other districts were as young as 16. Even some military Majors were reportedly 16 years old.

Using the polished communication skills provided by the English language, these individuals created highly efficient and largely corruption-free administrative systems.

However, it seems these youths often struggled to comprehend or tolerate the realities they encountered in India.

The Company’s London Board of Directors issued strict warnings to its officials not to interfere, under any circumstances, with India’s religious or spiritual customs.

In practice, this stance often led to significant issues, particularly with sati. Governor-General William Bentinck had explicitly warned all District Collectors that using the police to prevent sati would cost them their jobs.

The incident I’m about to recount comes from Henry Sleeman’s writings.

It occurred in 1806. Note that sati was banned in 1829. The incident took place in Benares (Varanasi), where Charles Harding, a young magistrate in the Bengal Civil Service, was stationed.

Brahmin men informed English Company officials that widows desired to offer their bodies to the flames alongside their husband’s corpse or some physical remnant of him.

To some extent, this may have been true. Moreover, the family of a woman who became a sati would gain significant social respect in the region.

Now, to the incident. About 12 months after the death of a Brahmin husband, his family began pressuring his widow to perform sati, to be done with some remnant of her husband.

In Ramnagar, two miles from Varanasi, a pyre was prepared on the banks of the Ganga River.

For some reason, it seems the woman was not tightly bound to the pyre. When the flames rose, the burning woman leapt from the fire and ran into the river, submerging herself.

Seeing this, the crowd chased her along the riverbank, trying to capture her. But the river’s current carried her toward Varanasi. Informed of the situation, the government sent police in a boat to rescue her.

She was terrified. The police and officials took her to Charles Harding.

A massive uproar erupted in the area. Rescuing a Brahmin woman meant to perform sati was deemed unforgivable.

Even the lower classes, who revered Brahmins as divine, wouldn’t condone this, as it tainted a sacred custom upheld for ages.

A crowd surrounded Charles Harding’s house. The young magistrate was deeply troubled. The mob demanded the woman be handed over for sati.

Government policy prohibited using police or military to save her.

Harding oversaw a region with a population of three lakh, many of whom were prone to provocation.

All the region’s elites gathered at Harding’s office, demanding the woman’s release. No one spoke of protecting the terrified woman.

Her father was present too. He said he couldn’t protect his daughter. Her husband’s family wouldn’t take her back either. He urged handing her over to be burned.

Harding tried arguing in various ways. The woman, meanwhile, wailed that she wasn’t willing to die in the flames.

Then, an idea struck Harding. He declared that it was clear the divine hadn’t accepted her sacrifice, which is why even the sacred river rejected her, and the fire didn’t consume her.

The social elites reportedly accepted this argument.

Her father took her away.

It’s worth noting that thousands of such incidents occurred in the newly formed Indian nation.

When writing South Asia’s history, it’s only from the English East India Company’s rule that historical events show clear intellectual engagement.

Before that, many things may have happened here, but they don’t seem significant enough to study.

For example, I live in Deverkovil today. When I first came here around 1966, it was a desolate, forested area. Nearby is a Brahmin (Hindu) temple.

The lower classes wouldn’t dare enter it.

There are also temples of non-Brahmins in nearby areas.

It seems a section of Tipu Sultan’s army passed through Deverkovil.

That’s a piece of history. Yet, it’s true that Deverkovil has a history spanning thousands or lakhs of years.

Various wars, conflicts, processions, and social discussions may have occurred here over centuries or millennia.

Another issue is the slave population. They’re ordinary humans today. But consider the slaves once seen as semi-animals. If they have a history, so do animals.

Yet, it’s also true that all humans belong to the animal species—animals.

Gorillas, chimpanzees, and other group-living wild animals may have histories too, with their own rulers and systems.

Even ants might.

Pursuing this path would lead to revealing some monumental matters, for which I’m not prepared now.

I must return to the history subject for the Civil Service exam. Today’s writing has veered a bit into the wilderness.

Note: Henry Sleeman’s Rambles and Recollections of an Indian Official can be read at this link.

[VED]

In the 9th and 10th standards, I had access to highly readable English history textbooks, which I completed over time.

They contained fascinating details about the Kulasekhara kings, Cheras, and others. I learned that Kerala was formed in 1956, but it wasn’t clear from what.

About twenty years ago, while conversing with a lawyer fluent in English, I mentioned terms like Madras Presidency and British Malabar during our discussion.

Surprised, he asked where I had learned about such things.

I explained that my mother began her career in the Madras State Civil Service and later transitioned to the Kerala cadre when Kerala was formed.

It was clear the lawyer was familiar with the Madras Presidency and Malabar District. However, the textbooks I studied didn’t provide such information.

The history taught in India follows a specific framework, which goes like this:

A Hindu culture spanning thousands of years, with several great Hindu empires. Foreign Muslim invaders conquered India and ruled for many years. Some plundered Hindu temples.

History textbooks embed numerous names of kings, kingdoms, and wars in the reader’s mind.

Looking at the royal dynasties across South Asia’s various regions from ancient times, the list might start like this:

From Wikipedia: Magadha, Kashmir, Gandhara, Kuru, Avanti, Videha, Kalinga, Kosala, Panchala, Anga, Kamboja, Shakya, Tambapanni, Pandya, Chola, Pandalam, Nenkasi Pandya, Chera, Velir, Ayi, Pallava, Kadamba, Chalukya, Satavahana, Kangaleypak, Kuninda, Yavana, Scythian, Kushan, Parthian, Sasanian, Huna, ...

Then comes the medieval period, followed by more.

What readers might overlook is that these dynasties were from different parts of South Asia. In Malabar’s ancient history, perhaps only one of these might be relevant.

Each dynasty listed above would include numerous kings, queens, princes, and princesses, all of whom could be studied in history textbooks.

Consider it this way.

Deverkovil’s history might contain similar elements. Unearthing them might be a pastime for some living there today. But what would happen if everyone in Deverkovil were forced to memorise these details?

There’s a Mappila (Muslim) mosque in Deverkovil. I don’t know when it was built. However, Mappilas have been present in the region since ancient times. How they arrived is unclear.

About 400 meters west of Deverkovil, there once stood a grand Mappila mosque with an enigmatic charm, featuring vibrant stained-glass windows reminiscent of Arabian antiquity.

Amidst large trees, there’s also a graveyard there. Today, that enigmatic mosque has been rebuilt as a modern concrete structure.

Deverkovil also had a few landowner families with two to three thousand acres of property, making them immensely wealthy.

Many ordinary Mappilas lived in abject poverty. However, with the influx of Gulf money, many became extremely wealthy.

This could be seen as a historical event. But why memorise the history of landowners and their family stories?

I’ve already mentioned that India’s official history has a clear framework:

A nation called India, thousands of years old, was repeatedly attacked by Islamic foreigners, some of whom plundered Hindu temples.

Then came the Portuguese, who looted India. They were followed by the Dutch and French, who also plundered. Finally, the British seized and looted India.

Additionally, European/British Christian missionary groups converted Hindus through various inducements. Similarly, foreign Islamic conversion groups did the same.

Under Gandhi’s leadership, a massive freedom struggle was waged. Ultimately, the British were defeated and fled, granting India independence.

I can’t discern what history lies in this narrative.

However, for the IAS exam, a candidate must have this history clear in their mind. Not only is history an optional subject, but Indian history is also tested in one of the General Studies papers.

I’m unsure if today’s history textbooks clearly cover the Travancore kingdom, Cochin kingdom, or Malabar District.

Yet, a false history I’ve seen, even in places like Wikipedia, claims that Travancore and Cochin were part of British India.

In reality, British India was India itself, and Travancore and Cochin were not part of it.

However, India provided protection to Travancore and Cochin from their internal enemies. For this, a unit of the Indian army was stationed in Travancore. I’m unsure about Cochin.

The Travancore government was responsible for the expenses of this army unit, though it seems they often failed to meet this obligation.

The historical framework I found in English books differed from the one described above.

I never believed that Gandhi, his followers, and other political rivals forced the English to withdraw from their global territories through public speeches, lawless activities, and plundering.

I’ll discuss more related matters later.

While studying for the Civil Service exam in Bangalore, I spoke with a fellow student who passed the exam and became an IPS officer about the foolish framework in history textbooks.

I recall what he said:

“I know all that. But to pass the exam, you need this historical framework. Write according to it, and you’ll get marks.”

The real historical framework, absent from textbooks, became clear to me only years later. I plan to discuss it in the next piece.

[VED]

After the English East India Company established the nation of India in South Asia, efforts began to delve into the antiquity of those regions.

The history there likely seemed to early Company officials like a dense bedrock, impenetrable with no clear path downward.

Yet, atop this bedrock were numerous Brahmin temples, worship sites of non-Brahmin lower classes, Islamic mosques, madrasas, and institutions of Buddhism and other faiths. Additionally, many royal families existed, each with claims tied to their ancient heritage.

However, the notion that a region’s history and culture are confined to the family histories of royals and the spiritual practices of society is a flawed assumption. I won’t delve into that now.

To navigate this metaphorical bedrock, Company officials had to chisel their way down slowly, step by step, using time as their tool.

With English rule spanning many parts of the world and the ease of communication through the English language, clues and testimonies of India’s historical events were uncovered in written records from various regions.

Thus, gradually, the historical events of India (British India) and nearby regions were dusted off and brought to light.

Alongside this, new social awakenings emerged across the subcontinent. Printing presses arrived, prompting locals to begin writing histories.

However, these unearthed histories focused on the deeds of kings and royal families, their fierce wars, and the palaces and temples they built.

It seems no one paid attention to the actual people who labored to construct these edifices.

Such historical studies provide no clear insight into the billions of humans who lived and died in these regions, the enslaved treated as subhuman, or the animals excluded from the human category.

For instance, to bolster the narrative of Akhand Bharat (Greater India) promoted today, various imaginations are invoked.

Chief among them are maps drawn based on the farthest boundaries reached by northern South Asian kings during their military campaigns across the subcontinent.

For example, Emperor Ashoka’s army reaching southern regions and conquering local kingdoms is cited as evidence of Akhand Bharat, elevating Ashoka to the status of an emperor.

It’s unclear what’s praiseworthy about this, as few seem to critically examine it.

Armies were often mercenary forces. Their trade and pastime involved slaughtering people and their children. The allure of violence and plunder drew individuals to such armed pursuits.

It’s unlikely that people in any region rejoiced, thinking their women’s capture by Ashoka’s forces heralded the birth of Akhand Bharat.

History textbooks are filled with tales of wars, conquests, and the construction of forts and temples.

Then there are the so-called administrative reforms of various kings, which are, frankly, a form of folly.

This is because, compared to the administrative and social reforms implemented by the English Company in the India they created, all reforms excavated from history and showcased appear barren, superficial, and skin-deep.

Having said this, one point must be clarified: the Vedic people. Who they were or where they actually lived remains unclear even today.

Yet, modern India’s academic geniuses are desperate to pin these people to their own address.

The clear reason is the lack of anything genuinely valuable in their own hands. Those with something worthwhile wouldn’t bother tying a group from thousands of years ago to modern India’s address.

Sometime after 2000, I downloaded a scanned PDF of the Travancore State Manual. Reading it revealed a South Asia absent from history textbooks.

It was there I first grasped the semi-animal human slavery that existed in South Asia.

Textbook histories suggested that the English enslaved India’s people.

However, the Travancore State Manual clearly indicated human slavery in the Travancore kingdom. It also detailed the pressures exerted by the Indian government on the Travancore royal family to abolish slavery.

The British outlawed human slavery across their global territories in 1833, a fact I knew from prior reading. I was also vaguely aware that the Indian government passed a law in 1843 to abolish slavery in India, from another book.

However, enforcing this in kingdoms adjacent to India (British India) required significant effort by the Indian government, and only in regions under India’s protection could such efforts be made.

The most detailed account of Travancore’s slavery came from Native Life in Travancore, written by Rev. Samuel Mateer of the London Missionary Society.

This book contains historical details that many find unpalatable.

The fact that London Missionary Society missionaries converted Travancore’s enslaved population to Christianity is something even those Christians today hesitate to admit publicly. They seem more interested in loudly claiming that English rule plundered India.

Finding information about the enslaved population’s conversion to Christianity is challenging today.

The Malabar Manual, attributed to William Logan, also contains numerous historical details unlikely to appear in India’s official history textbooks.

Before concluding today’s piece, one more point.

The English didn’t need to come here to abolish slavery in India. Indians themselves could have done it. However, no Indian was interested, and even if they were, most lacked the mental fortitude for it.

No Indian would willingly seat a housemaid on a chair instead of the floor.

Moreover, such customs aren’t isolated incidents. They’re embedded in countless coded words within social communication.

Untangling these to liberate the complex mental attitudes in communication is beyond anyone’s ability. It’s not like seating an Englishwoman from the floor onto a chair.

This mindset pervades society entirely, sustained by languages like Malayalam.

When evaluating English rule, this is a point that must not be overlooked.

[VED]

Many thoughts are clamoring to spill out of my mind at once, but they can’t all be written together.

If I tried, it would be like a landslide, burying clarity. So, I must follow each delicate thread one by one.

I don’t recall exactly, but it seems that in the 1990s, among the many old book stalls lining the streets of Daryaganj in ancient Delhi, I chanced upon a massive historical tome about various English colonial establishments worldwide.

British Empire and Commonwealth by George W. Southgate, B.A.

I believe that book is still somewhere in my house.

It detailed, with remarkable clarity, the histories of English-ruled territories that sprawled across the globe. The writing was of exceptional quality.

It’s crucial to understand that the regions called parts of the British Empire were, in reality, distinct nations. Yet, above them all, an English administration—sometimes invisible, sometimes overt—held sway.

A few words about that historical work.

A common virtue in such English writings is their lack of ideological bias. In contrast, Indian writings often burst into grandiose eulogies of our glorious heritage, great men, grand cities, and mighty warriors.

Reading several chapters of that book illuminated the paths through which English rule spread worldwide.

In those times, communication with distant regions took weeks. Messages traveled through treacherous routes and storm-tossed seas.

Yet, English establishments everywhere created systems with uniform designs: clear, documented laws, regulations, customs imbued with magnanimity, and human rights.

The English understood they were building human nations, so human rights had to be codified—ideas absent in many places.

What’s most striking is the absence of self-interest among English administrators. This can be illustrated thus:

In South Asia, kings, emperors, royal families, and merchants knew that allowing a family member to wield power in a distant region often led to that person swiftly establishing an independent kingdom or movement.

Such rebellious behavior was typically provoked by overseers from their own family.

Thus, as any large kingdom grew, distant authorities would declare independence or wage war against their own kin. To prevent this, kingdoms maintained vast armies.

In essence, even kin were seen as potential future enemies—a mindset prevalent everywhere.

This seems true even for Rome.

Yet, while English establishments often operated independently, they showed no trace of infighting, betrayal, or overreaching ambition.

In contrast, the French, Portuguese, and others engaged in such rivalries during their colonial eras.

A point to interject here: English individuals who worked in feudal linguistic spaces like India and returned to England often became problematic there.

This was because Indians had elevated them to sahib and memsahib status. I won’t delve into that now.

Back to the flow of writing.

Why were the English different? The answer lies in their egalitarian language codes.

However, Britain itself was and remains a place of complex social intricacies. I can’t explore that now.

I deliberately studied The Native Races of South Africa by George W. Stow, written in 1880. I say deliberately because South Africa wasn’t a place on my mind back then.

Yet, with details of other regions swirling in my head, a desire grew to understand the true state of Africa’s indigenous peoples.

Reading that book, I noticed similarities with remarks in Native Life in Travancore by Rev. Samuel Mateer. (The London Missionary Society operated in South Africa too.)

Looking back, many in South Africa then exhibited savage traits.

Moreover, there were places where the line between animals and humans blurred. I even pondered at what stage an animal species qualifies as human.

I noticed the same in Rev. Samuel Mateer’s writings. Yet, he and the Indian (British-Indian) government knew they were governing humans in South Asia.

That awareness wasn’t as clear among local populations.

Each social stratum viewed those below them not as equally intelligent or human but as lesser beings. An unwritten notion persisted in South Asia that lower groups were, to some degree, animals. This persists today.

The lowest were seen as semi-animals. When animals die, they are said to have chathu. So too, when a Pulayan, Parayan, or Cheruman died, they “perished.”

When an agricultural labourer below the Nair level died, to Nairs and those above, they chathu.

Yet, when lower groups clashed among themselves, they used the same term for each other.

None of this was comprehensible to the English.

The same applied to food practices. Humans do kill and eat animals savagely. Today, most don’t; meat is sold in shops.

But in ancient times, the lowest groups had no social means to buy meat. Like animals, they hunted, fought, killed, and ate other creatures.

Sometimes, animals saw them as prey and devoured them.

However, many of these lower groups had human-made tools like knives and axes, making them slightly distinct and superior to animals.

Without these, they were mere beasts in the wild.

Consider Mr. Baker’s account of the Pulayas:

They dig roots, snare the ibex of the hills, and jungle fowls, eat rats and snakes, and even crocodiles found in the pools amongst the hill streams. They were perfectly naked and filthy, and very timid. They spoke Malayalam in a curious tone, and said that twenty-two of their party had been devoured by tigers within two monsoons.

Rev. Samuel Mateer writes similarly:

The Kuluvar women catch jackals and snakes, and other reptiles to eat.

George W. Stow clearly believed he was writing about dark-skinned humans in Africa.

But not all whom Stow considered human shared that view.

Communities maintaining civilized environments existed there and here.

Yet, they lived with vast defenses against wild animals—and against those Stow deemed human, who were the most fearsome beasts.

These “humans” captured others, stabbed them with knives, cooked, and ate them.

I hadn’t planned to delve into this topic soon, but here we are. I must finish this before returning to the Civil Service exam.

System: * Today's date and time is 04:51 PM IST on Wednesday, June 25, 2025.

[VED]

The English East India Company likely established its first trading post on Dharmadam Island in Tellicherry, North Malabar, in the late 1700s. I’m unclear on what the people of Malabar looked like then.

(Paintings of Malabar’s inhabitants from around the 1800s can be seen at this link (#).)

Broadly, it seems the lowest enslaved groups lacked proper housing, food, or clothing.

In Travancore, one enslaved group’s condition was described thus:

...eat the carcasses of cows and other animals which have died of old age or disease, even when almost putrid. These are cut up for distribution by the females principally, and after partaking of this disgusting food, their odor is insufferable.

Summary: They consumed decaying carcasses of cows and animals dead from age or disease, cut up mainly by women. After eating this foul food, their stench was unbearable.

In 1841, Rev. J. Abbs recorded a wealthy Shudra (Nair) in Travancore saying:

He says that he is at liberty to let or transfer his servants as he pleases—to separate the children from the parents, and the wife from the husband—to give them as presents to his friends, or allot them as the wedding dowry of his daughters—to assign them over as a payment for his debts—and in short, as he expressed it, to him they are “as cattle.”

Summary: He could separate enslaved children from parents, wives from husbands, gift them to friends, include them as dowry for his daughters, or use them to settle debts. To him, they were like cattle.

Looking back, while it may seem like human enslavement, these enslaved people were viewed then much like cows or buffaloes are today.

When the English Company took over Malabar, some changes occurred, but only senior Company officials were English or British.

Even if these officials realized the enslaved weren’t animals, transforming them into humans was immensely challenging.

I saw similar enslaved individuals in remote areas during my childhood. Seeing them was one thing; making them ordinary humans was beyond me or anyone else.

They lived on landowners’ farmlands.

Back then, travel was rudimentary. Around the early 1990s, 100cc and 150cc motorcycles began appearing in Malabar.

These were bought and ridden by wealthy men’s young sons, who sped through streets while others watched with mild envy.

Around 1992, in Calicut, a speeding bike skidded and fell. The rider was injured. A woman shared this news with me in a gleeful tone, saying, “He sped too fast, and now he’s been cut down!”

In my childhood, Malabar’s streets were mostly narrow lanes. The world felt vast, yet those claiming to be human lived in tiny bubbles.

The enslaved, dwelling in huts on farmlands, likely saw only the fields they worked their entire lives. They were often barred from markets.

Their clothing was often just a small cloth.

Moreover, language codes confined them to a low, stifled existence, shaping their thoughts.

Yet, if they travelled vast roads and saw the world broadly, their intellect would leap forward.

If animals could roam widely, they too would encounter new sights, growing in intelligence.

Landowners used many enslaved people like captured animals, bred and worked.

At night, wild animals might attack these enslaved groups or their farmlands.

To prevent this, some climbed tree branches, shouting or making noises at night, banging objects to create sounds resembling animal calls.

Missionaries from the London Missionary Society treated these people as humans, training and teaching them religion. Afterward, their nighttime noises changed:

They may now be heard singing hymns, instead of howling to drive off wild animals while watching the fields at night.

Summary: Once howling to scare wild animals, they now sing hymns at night.

Reading this, one realizes English Company officials encountered a society of some humans and many semi-humans.

But that’s not entirely true. The Company came to South Asia to buy pepper and other trade goods.

They likely believed they were trading with humans here.

Their failure to see they met various animals, trading with some, might reflect a mere lapse in imagination.

It’s understood that, for decades, senior Company officials in Malabar couldn’t speak or fully understand the local language. However, some locals likely grasped English.

For a long time, they used a Goan named Pedro Rodrigues as their translator, communicating with Malabaris and others through him.

If a bilingual figure facilitated communication with other animals, those animals might have risen to human status.

Another point: the Company later suspected Pedro Rodrigues of conspiracies, as they relied solely on his translations.

If he labeled someone a villain, the Company had to view them as such.

Consequently, two senior officials, Messrs. Johnson and Taylor, learned the Malabari language through great effort—a breakthrough, the Company believed.

In reality, this may have scratched the Company’s innate English animal mindset, allowing Malabari animal instincts to creep in.

The question now is: who are truly humans?

Vedic Aryans, Malabar Brahmins, Tiyyas, diverse Muslim groups, enslaved people, Romans, African Black communities, Arabs, continental Europeans, Englishmen—the world holds many.

Which group’s lineage makes one human?

I plan to explore that in the next piece.

[VED]

Experiments have been conducted to raise the young of human-like apes alongside humans to instil human behaviours in them. These experiments do not appear to have been successful. It seems that many of those conducting such experiments lacked a clear understanding of what it means to be human.

Consider the video mentioned above. It depicts a scene in Africa where members of a tribe capture and prepare to eat an individual from the baboon species. Today, one can quickly discern that in this scene, one individual is a human and the other is a tailless ape. However, in the 1800s in Africa, many tribes now recognised as human were known to capture and consume others also now recognised as human, in a similar manner.

Moreover, English visitors to Africa during that time reportedly felt that baboons, a type of tailless ape, exhibited human-like behaviours. Consider a recorded statement from the 1800s about the Bushmen:

“That they are,” continues the doctor, “to some extent like baboons is true, just as these are in some points frightfully human.”

In the video (this video is no longer available on YouTube, so another has been posted instead), the sounds made by the individual now recognised as human can be understood as words in their language, as we have access to such knowledge. However, if the baboon in this scene were to produce sounds, we would not recognise them as words in their language.

Creating a script for the language spoken by the human in this scene might require an extraordinary software system. Yet, this is not an impossible task today, as it may be relatively straightforward to create a new script using the characters of our language.

Here, an interesting point arises for consideration. Suppose an English child is taken and raised by tailless apes of the baboon species from infancy. What would happen? Similar cases have been documented with speakers of other languages. It has been found that the child’s communication abilities, behaviours, and facial expressions would closely resemble those of the tailless apes. In other words, no trace of an English personality would develop in that child.

Now, consider another scenario. Suppose the same English child is raised from infancy by members of the Hadzabe tribe seen in the video. Would any English personality traits persist in that child?

Let’s think further. Suppose this child is raised in the 1800s by enslaved people in the kingdom of Travancore in India. Wouldn’t the child develop the semi-animalistic traits of those enslaved communities at that time?

Consider yet another scenario. Suppose this child is raised by ordinary individuals in modern-day India—in Malabar, Travancore, Tamil Nadu, Rajasthan, Bihar, or Bengal—in their regional language, without any exposure to the English language. Would any English personality traits emerge in that child?

The answer to all these scenarios is that no English traits would develop in the child.

Now, consider the reverse. If an Indian individual is raised from infancy solely in an English language and cultural environment, without any influence from their regional language, would any traits of their regional language or culture develop?

Historically, many African tribal people were captured or purchased by slave-trading groups and sold as slaves across various parts of the world. The social environment of the places where they were sold would influence their next generation. The most significant transformation occurred in the USA, where most of those who purchased them were Irish farmers. Although the Irish did not primarily speak English, the common language used was indeed English. Thus, the Negroes brought from Africa were immersed in an English-speaking environment.

Here, consider the difference between a human-like creature being raised by wild tribes in Africa versus being raised by English-speaking people. If an individual is raised from infancy in an English-speaking environment, completely shielded from their native regional language’s influence, one can only imagine what might happen.

I attempted such an experiment with two individuals, but both were interrupted in different ways. Those details cannot be discussed here now.

In the USA, the English population fought a war to secure freedom for Negro slaves. The English perspective was that any creature capable of walking on two legs and smiling with its mouth was human. This belief drove them to take measures worldwide to suppress the slave trade. The British Royal Navy’s West African Squadron patrolled the western coasts of Africa, intercepting slave-trading ships and freeing slaves back to African shores.

However, this act was itself a great cruelty. Those freed slaves were returned to a social environment inhabited by various creatures that captured and consumed humans. In contrast, had they reached the USA, their next generation would have grown up in an English-speaking social environment.

Once Negro slaves gained freedom, they were recognised as fully human, and that perception grew within them as well. With freedom, they gained human rights. They could study and play alongside white people. Consequently, they grew without limitations into the behavioural traits, abilities, and intellectual capacities of the English human race. However, many of their inherent abilities were of a higher calibre than those of the English.

Further discussion on this growth cannot be undertaken now, as the writing might veer off course. Still, one more point can be made. Most white people in the USA are not English. They, too, migrated to the USA and acquired proficiency in the English language. Without this experience, they would also remain somewhat semi-human.

The recurring question here is: who are the true humans?

The image provided below, posted previously in this writing, depicts slaves being rescued by the British West African Squadron and returned to Africa during their transport to the USA.

[VED]

It is unclear whether any ancient philosopher deeply contemplated the question of who truly constitutes a human. Wherever continental Europeans ventured in the world, they likely regarded those who walked on two legs and appeared somewhat similar to themselves as humans. Simultaneously, the English may have inherently believed that they, too, were unequivocally human.

In modern English films, people of the Roman Empire are depicted as resembling the English, speaking English in those portrayals. It’s worth noting that South Asians living in England today also speak English fluently.

In reality, the people of Rome were not English. They likely kept slaves and spoke a language marked by significant hierarchical distinctions, much like South Asians. They seem to have used Latin as their official language, which may have evolved into modern Italian. This suggests that Latin was likely a feudal language.

It does not appear that the English sought to emulate continental Europeans. However, France, Spain, and the regions now comprising Germany seem to have been in constant competition with England. Moreover, England’s nobility and royal family carried the bloodlines of continental European elite families. Their refined demeanour and behaviour were effectively shaped by the English language. Yet, it is said that the royal family privately used German until just before the Second World War.

If England had existed a mere twenty kilometres across the Arabian Sea from Malabar, the social, cultural, and other transformations that occurred in Malabar might have also taken place in continental Europe. The elites of Malabar would have competed in various ways with a nearby England, striving to surpass it. If possible, they might have sought to conquer England and bring it under their control. However, as long as the people of England refrained from learning the Malabari language, they would not have been reduced to the status of Malabar’s enslaved populace.

At the same time, Malabar’s elites would likely have imitated English clothing and other customs while making strenuous efforts to keep their subordinates distanced from the English.

(Note: To realise that the ordinary people of modern Malabar are akin to slaves, one must visit an English-speaking nation and experience the social freedoms there.)

A similar dynamic likely played out in continental Europe, where nations close to England acted in comparable ways. If the true humans were the citizens of Rome, then any creatures that successfully emulated the Romans would also become human. Today, however, most people worldwide strive to adopt English behaviours, clothing, education, and other traits.

Some may argue that the clothing and other items used by the English were borrowed from various other peoples. Nevertheless, these are now adopted by others as a pathway into English culture. Even in the interiors of Malabar today, people wear trousers and shirts. Yet, their traditional attire remains the mundu, shawl, cap, waistband, nose ring, earrings, and other such items.

If the traditional people of Malabar are the true humans, then creatures worldwide aspiring to be human would attempt to adopt Malabar’s behaviours, clothing, and language. However, such a transformation would bring numerous limitations.

Similarly, if the people of Africa’s wilderness are the true humans, others might attempt to emulate their behaviours, clothing, and dietary habits to become human. Alternatively, they might adopt the stance that they have no interest in becoming human.

Today, many children of high-ranking Indian government officials spend up to forty lakh rupees to migrate to English-speaking nations. They may hold a firm belief that, by living among humans there, they will gradually become human themselves. However, in many English-speaking nations, they often end up among other Indians, potentially stunting their evolution into the human race.

The concept of humanity today is rooted in the English language. It should also exist in pure Arabic, though I am uncertain if this is true. In English, there are human rights, and humans have a right to dignity. These concepts are absent in many other languages.

In other words, even if one can walk on two legs and use hands like the English, the human-like social connections and personality traits found among the English are often absent in speakers of other languages. If the English are the true humans, then many speakers of other languages are not fully human. Conversely, if feudal language speakers are the true humans, then the English are not fully human.

There is a deeper point here. If the English were to settle in a region of Malabar, learn the local language, and take up ordinary occupations, they would likely disintegrate. A single derogatory word from a local labour overseer could crush most of them, leading to internal conflicts and collapse.

Thus, becoming English and becoming a speaker of a feudal language are entirely distinct phenomena.

Having said this, I plan to discuss the races perceived as human or animal in various parts of the world in the next writing.

[VED]

All living creatures are interconnected through the medium of food. Except for most plants, all other living beings consume either other creatures, their body parts, or their bodily products. This is a profoundly tragic reality.

In Africa, many beings now recognised as human once captured, killed, and consumed others also now recognised as human. The English defined this phenomenon as cannibalism, or the consumption of human flesh.

It was with the arrival of the English in Africa that these beings were informed that this was a deplorable dietary practice. The English had to make significant efforts to instil the understanding that

“You are all humans; you must not kill and eat one another”

.

Cannibalism, or the act of consuming members of one’s own species, is also observed in some animals. Convincing these beings that they were distinct from such animals and were, in fact, human was no easy task.

However, not all beings in Africa now recognised as human engaged in cannibalism. A particular group worth noting is the Bushmen of southern Africa. A recorded statement about them reads:

“It is worthy of remark, however, that no instance of cannibalism was heard of, either among the Hottentots or the Bushmen, even in their direst extremities.”

The Bushmen were considered the lowest of African tribes. Yet, from the perspective of cannibalism, they exhibited a remarkably high level of human quality. Unlike many other tribes regarded as superior human races, who had no qualms about such dietary practices, the Bushmen refrained from consuming their own kind, even in extreme famine.

In a sense, English efforts in Africa aimed to elevate the moral standards of many tribal groups to the level of the Bushmen.

Let us now examine the Bushmen in greater depth. They were notably short in stature and lived hidden in the thickets of their regions. They resided atop tall, steep rock formations. They could use their hands and feet with equal dexterity, moving like spiders up and down these cliffs. They could leap from one rock to another like apes, and if they slipped, their fingers could grasp crevices to halt their fall. They lived in dense forests and dark caves.

Other African tribes, recognised as human by the English, held the Bushmen in great fear and contempt. Whenever they encountered them, these tribes would kill them without mercy. The primary reason was that the Bushmen possessed highly venomous arrows. A single graze from one of their arrows could cause any creature or person to die in excruciating pain.

The Bushmen never willingly associated with other tribes, as taller tribes would enslave them if they did. Moreover, during times of hunger or celebration, these tribes would cook and consume the Bushmen as food. Consequently, the Bushmen lived closely tied to the soil and thickets, never regarded by other tribes as fellow beings.

In general, other tribes viewed the Bushmen much like a king cobra is viewed today—killed on sight by striking or slashing. In retaliation, the Bushmen would shoot their venomous arrows, inflicting on their enemies an experience akin to a deadly snakebite.

Consider this in modern terms. In most places, people would kill a king cobra on sight. Yet, in reality, king cobras bear no inherent malice toward most creatures. In the kingdom of Travancore, Nair households would allow king cobra families to live comfortably. The cobra’s wife, husband, and children would come and go, regarded with great respect by the household. These snakes typically did not attack humans unless accidentally stepped on.

A recorded observation states:

“It is possible that the danger to human life arising from the great abundance of snakes is slightly diminished by the comparative tameness of the creatures.”

However, if these same snakes encountered lower-class individuals, they would be killed without mercy by beating or cutting.

This raises a thought-provoking point: snakes may not perceive all humans as belonging to the same race. Human-like beings with smaller physiques might kill them, while those living in grand households with great physical strength and social power would offer them protection, comfort, and space to rest. Wouldn’t snakes perceive these two types of humans as distinct species?

Consider this analogy: humans in a forest encounter a particular species of bear that attacks, mauls, and eats them. In the same forest, they meet another species of bear that welcomes them with honey, sugar, and nectar. Wouldn’t humans distinguish these two bear groups as separate species?

Returning to the Bushmen, a recorded description states:

“The Bushmen of Southern Africa have been described by their enemies, not only as being ‘the lowest of the low,’ but as the most treacherous, vindictive, and untameable savages on the face of the earth: a race void of all generous impulses, and little removed from the wild beasts with which they associated, one only fitted to be exterminated like noxious vermin, as a blot upon nature, upon whom kindness and forbearance were equally misplaced and thrown away.”

Yet, it is noted:

“They appear never to have had great wars against each other.”

And,

“When left to themselves, a merry, cheerful race.”

Other African tribes viewed the Bushmen as venomous snakes. They would pile firewood outside the Bushmen’s caves, set it alight, and suffocate those trapped inside with smoke. More details about the Bushmen remain to be written, which I plan to address in the next piece.

[VED]

In the early 1980s, a close relative of mine embarked on a world tour by ship and visited some ports along the African coast. However, this person did not venture beyond the port. When asked why, they said that the crowds there were frightening. Although they implied that seeing groups of dark-skinned people was intimidating, I understood the real issue was likely their wild, unfamiliar language.

Back then, Africa was indeed perceived as a dark continent. British figures like Dr. David Livingstone, a member of the London Missionary Society, travelled to Africa in the 1800s. The Africa he encountered must have been a truly terrifying place. A record of a Dutchman’s journey through African wilderness during that time describes:

“those mysterious wilds, whose river banks, wooded and reed covered, were the haunts of the python and the crocodile, ... swarming with ferocious beasts of prey, and passing scattered habitations of savage men”

.

Travellers from England and continental Europe identified humans in Africa’s wilderness by observing those who walked on two legs, like themselves. While it’s true they couldn’t understand the languages spoken, they recognised the sounds as some form of language. The challenge in this recognition was their lack of knowledge about how other animals communicated. If they had understood that animals also had a form of communication, the creatures in Africa might be considered the humans there today.

Regarding the language of some African tribes, it is noted:

“from the almost unpronounceable character of their language”

. A similar experience was felt by those from England who arrived in the Madras region, where Tamil and Malabari languages posed significant challenges to pronounce and use.

Among the Bushmen living in Africa’s wilderness long ago, there was a sense of their own supremacy. They reportedly believed that they and the lions shared dominion over the world:

“at the time when they believed that they and the lions shared the world between them”

. This is akin to saying king cobras in ancient times held such a belief.

When other tribes settled in a region, their first act was often to mercilessly kill the local Bushmen. It is recorded:

“they kill without distinction men, women, and children; women, they say, to prevent them breeding more thieves, and children to prevent them from becoming like their parents!”

Today, humans do the same: upon settling in an area, they eradicate all venomous creatures. It is noted of the Bushmen:

“from constant intercourse with beasts of prey and serpents in their path, as well as exposure to harsh treatment, they appear shy and have a wild and frequently quick suspicious look”

. This describes their wary, vigilant demeanour, with eyes constantly scanning their surroundings. The same can be observed in king cobras today, displaying similar alertness.

Christian organisations like the London Missionary Society provided knowledge and technical skills to other African tribes, which proved more dangerous for the Bushmen. These newly Christianised tribes learned to make firearms and used them to hunt both wild animals and Bushmen. Recall that lower-class people in Travancore, after converting to Christianity, did the same in Malabar’s forests.

Regarding the Bushmen’s language, it is said:

“some of their simple refrains had as much effect upon their feelings as our own more perfect and elaborate compositions have upon civilised men”

. Even their simple sounds evoked profound emotional responses, comparable to the capabilities of modern human languages.

An account describes an elderly Bushman and his wife living near the English:

“Whilst ‘Kouke was singing the upper line, the old man became visibly affected, and kept continually touching her arm, saying, ‘Don’t! Don’t!’ She, however, continued, when he again said, almost pitifully, ‘Don’t! Don’t sing those old songs, I can’t bear it! It makes my heart too sad!’ She still persisted, with more animation than before, evidently warming with the recollection of the past, until at length the old man, no longer able to resist the impulse, broke into the refrain shown in the second line. They looked at each other, and were happy, the glance of the wife seeming to say, ‘Ah! I thought you could not withstand that!’”

No one would expect such rays of love and affection in people perceived as mere venomous creatures. One was not prepared to meet with such a display of genuine feeling as this among people who have been looked upon and treated as such untamably vicious animals as this doomed race are said to be. It was a proof that ‘all the world’s akin’”

.

The account above refers to an elderly Bushman and his wife living near the English. The wife sang an old song, which deeply moved the old man. He pleaded, “Don’t! Don’t!” But she continued singing. He said, “When I hear these old songs, I can’t bear it. My heart aches.”

Yet, she persisted, and memories of their past blossomed in their minds. The old man joined in the song. Husband and wife gazed at each other with emotional intensity, overwhelmed with love and joy.

No one would expect such rays of love and affection in people perceived as mere venomous creatures.

[VED]

It appears that even the Dutch struggled to clearly distinguish between humans and animals among the creatures of Africa. Initially, they may have regarded the Bushmen as human, but over time, they seem to have adopted the same perspective as other local African tribes who were in close contact with them.

The English, however, seem to have thought more broadly. For instance, they reportedly felt a sense of unease, believing that baboons, a type of tailless ape, exhibited human-like behaviours. This was because local Africans would kill these creatures without remorse, slaughtering them for meat.

In reality, the situation was more complex. Many African tribes, now recognised as human, consumed others also now considered human. Recall the video posted earlier in this writing, featuring a Hadzabe individual and a baboon. In earlier times, many African tribes, now deemed human, would have turned both the Hadzabe individual and the baboon into food if they could.

However, it must be noted that not all African tribes practised cannibalism. Some resorted to it only in extreme famine.

Now, consider the two individuals in the aforementioned video, which was filmed recently. Imagine if this video had been recorded 300 years ago—how much difference would there be between the two groups? Both lived like animals in the vast wilderness.

Suppose one group is taken as slaves to the United States. Their descendants learn English, wear trousers, shirts, and shoes, and use modern tools. They attend schools and colleges alongside English-educated continental European whites, participate in various sports, and some become teachers or coaches. They drive cars, use computers and smartphones, and acquire technical knowledge. Some even discuss celestial bodies.

Meanwhile, most baboons remain in the wild. Some are taken to the United States and kept in zoos under captivity. Their lack of mental growth may stem from their inability to communicate with the English and because Arab slave traders in Africa identified them as complete animals. These traders may have consumed their flesh but would not have eaten the flesh of enslaved black people. This differentiation by slave traders likely hindered the mental development of baboons.

In contrast, the Bushmen’s entry into humanity may have been due to the magnanimity of the English, who maintained that these beings—seen by all as venomous and highly dangerous—were human.

Such thinking persisted in the English world. Dian Fossey, an American, lived among gorillas in Africa and reportedly noted that male gorillas displayed great affection and responsibility toward their wives and children, behaving like gentlemen.

Turning to South Asia, it seems the higher classes viewed enslaved individuals as dangerous semi-humans. Moreover, significant social distance existed between those living at different levels of the hierarchical ladder of derogatory and respectful address. It is recorded:

“The gulf which separates one caste from another is often very great, as great, almost, as between distinct species of animals; or as that which exists between mankind and their cattle or dogs. The cordon of division is strangely effective and complete in its operation.”

Nevertheless, it is true that lower-caste individuals often harboured sexual desires toward higher-caste women, and some would abduct them. Generally, however, sexual relations with a lower-caste man were repulsive to higher-caste women.

In Malabar, there was a belief that snakes felt an affinity for human women. It is said:

“In Malabar, it is believed that snakes wed mortal girls, and fall in love with women. When once they do so, they are said to be constantly pursuing them, and never to leave them, except for an occasional separation for food.”

The English indeed viewed certain venomous creatures in Africa as human. However, when they established the Indian state, they could not tolerate the serpent worship prevalent there. It is understood that in British India, approximately 17,000 people died annually from snakebites, all of whom were local individuals.

To curb this, the English administration introduced and implemented a reward for killing venomous snakes. It is noted:

“In a little corner of the territory, Tangacherry, which belongs to the English, two annas are paid per head; and in the Cantonment of Quilon, considerate English officers frequently offer rewards and take a great interest in the protection of the lives of their people; while in Travancore nothing of this kind is ever done.”

In India, venomous snakes were indeed seen as dangerous creatures. Yet, in the nearby kingdom of Travancore, the elite regarded king cobras as divine beings. Christian missionaries also viewed snakes as venomous creatures and offered bounties for their killing, though their funds were limited.

It seems that if king cobras in India walked on two legs, the English might have regarded them as human. However, in Travancore, the elite considered these non-walking serpents as superior to humans. It is said that Lord Padmanabhaswamy himself rested atop a divine serpent. There are reportedly eight divine serpents, known as Ashtanagas, considered half-human and half-cobra.

[VED]

Unarmed humans are, in reality, weaker than many animals. Like animals, these humans hunt and live off other creatures. However, when humans with advanced technical skills and tools arrived in various parts of the world and taught those they considered human like themselves their weapon-making techniques and provided technical tools, those beings rose to the standards of advanced humans.

This did not happen for many animals. The reason may be that many animals could not convey to advanced humans that they, too, possessed similar emotional traits and life needs.

Humans became distinctly superior to other animals only after acquiring technical expertise. Yet, it is true that many non-human creatures can communicate with one another. How they do so is, frankly, unknown to most who believe they are knowledgeable through scientific study.

The machinery behind human and animal intelligence, thoughts, emotional responses, memories, and the ability to recall and process them is something modern physical scientists lack any framework to conceptualise. In reality, what exists and operates behind all this is software—an ethereal reality. However, physical science cannot accept the concept of software, as acknowledging it would force the field to take a step or several steps backward, with software experts taking the forefront.

I won’t delve deeper into this now.

The phenomenon behind migratory birds flying thousands of kilometres annually to their destinations without ever losing their way may be explained by biology in a manner akin to sheer folly. It’s like explaining the technical features of a smartphone using biological knowledge.

How do ants communicate with one another? In ancient times, human communication was solely through sounds produced by the mouth, enabled by vocal cords in the larynx. It’s not difficult to understand that precise software in the brain controls this effectively.

If such sophisticated software exists in the brain, it’s hard to deny that these software systems in different individuals could communicate with one another. I’ve realised I don’t have the ability to read others’ minds, but I’ve experimentally found I can evoke emotional responses in some people. Moreover, I’ve experienced the radiation of thoughts, which may be a common experience for many.

Staring intensely at windowpanes and mentally commanding them to shatter won’t break them. However, sending a software signal to disrupt the coding that physically holds the pane together could shatter it. I lack the knowledge to do this. But I’ve initiated emotional responses in others by manipulating software coding in a specific way, not by staring at them.

I cannot elaborate further here.

Elon Musk’s company has begun installing Neuralink software systems in human brains. Over time, this could dominate all forms of communication. Consequently, software to prevent individuals from influencing others’ minds and thoughts may need to be installed in brains, much like antivirus software in computers today.

Consider installing a Neuralink system in animal brains. There’s much to say on this, but I’ll address it later. For now, I plan to briefly explore the case of ants in the next writing.

[VED]

Let’s now consider ants.

In our homes, we may observe ants living in intricately designed habitats. Some colonies house hundreds or thousands of ants, while those in mere soil can contain lakhs or millions. In certain places, ants from different colonies collaborate, forming interconnected super colonies or nations. Within these boundaries of distinct identities, they mate, reproduce, and maintain complex social rules and structures.

Ants reportedly construct highly efficient villages, towns, and cities, planned and supervised with precision, complete with pathways through their geographical domains. They even have private homes for families, though these are typically invisible to humans.

Some people pour molten metal, like non-toxic zinc or aluminium, plaster, or cement, into ant colonies to create a mold. After it hardens, they excavate the structure, which becomes a decorative display item. It is noted:

“It involves pouring molten metal (typically non-toxic zinc or aluminum), plaster or cement down an ant colony mound acting as a mold and upon hardening, one excavates the resulting structure.”

This process inflicts excruciating pain on the ants, akin to the experience of people in Pompeii, Italy, when lava and smoke from a nearby volcano engulfed them. Today, Pompeii and its inhabitants remain preserved as lava molds.

Returning to the main point: how do individual ants in such vast populations design, regulate, and maintain their social bonds? To humans, ants may seem trivial and tiny, but to themselves, each ant is a significant individual, not a mere speck.

From the sky, human cities might resemble ant colonies. I recall walking in Bombay’s Kurla at night, where the crowd was denser than an ant colony, with barely space to step. Suddenly, the power went out, plunging everything into pitch darkness.

Different ant colonies likely have distinct social structures, with clear social and interpersonal designs in their communication languages. Some may have languages like Malayalam, which degrade or elevate individuals, while others might resemble English, uplifting everyone’s individuality.

About forty years ago, I watched an English film about a cat from another planet, lost in space, communicating and performing actions with its mind. Back then, this seemed like pure folly. Today, with the boundless growth of digital technology, that cat’s mental abilities seem trivial. A modern smartphone surpasses such capabilities.

Many animals likely communicate using their brain software, while early humans relied solely on their tongues. Today, humans communicate in various ways.

The marvel of how we produce words and thoughts so rapidly should be astonishing, yet few ponder it. For AI, this is trivial. For instance, when I asked Meta AI on WhatsApp about VED from VICTORIA INSTITUTIONS, it replied it didn’t know. But when given a link to my books, it read all 30–40 of my English books in a fraction of a second, listing their ideas, inconsistencies, and academically unacceptable points.

Translating these books into other languages using this technology would take equally little time.

Consider this: our brain software designs the plots, scripts, characters, and settings of our dreams in mere moments. More needs to be said about ants, which I plan to cover in the next writing.

[VED]

Evaluating one ant colony and applying that assessment to all ant colonies is not feasible, as each may have distinct "racial" differences, akin to those seen in humans today, and possibly even more variations. Similarly, if extraterrestrial beings assessed the people of England and applied that definition to other nations, it would be absurd.

Many large ant nations may have ancient histories, royal dynasties, technologies, medicinal practices, surgical sciences, communication systems, law enforcement, sexual arts, various entertainments, competitions, examinations, social hierarchies, transportation systems, societal structures, customs, and precedence protocols established centuries ago. Some of these may resemble what humans know today.

If humans ever begin communicating with ants in the future, it’s difficult to predict precisely what knowledge would emerge from them.

Having said this, let’s turn to China.

Since childhood, I’ve had some awareness of China, partly because my home had English literature related to the Chinese Communist Revolution. However, I’ve long realised that understanding Chinese society through English leads to folly. The communism described in English has no connection to the reality of communism in feudal languages. The former is a concept of profound nobility; the latter reduces humans to something akin to wild apes. Even without communism, the situation is similar, but I won’t delve into that now.

Pearl S. Buck’s The Good Earth was at our home. Buck, an American writer who grew up in China, won the Nobel Prize for this novel, which likely depicts the lives of Chinese farmers and agricultural workers. I don’t recall the story now, but I believe this writer, despite her love for the Chinese from the pedestal of English and American privilege, likely failed to truly understand China or its people. It’s akin to the folly of English speakers understanding Malayalis through Malayalam conversations translated into English. Yet, Buck may have had the unique distinction of introducing creatures incomprehensible to the English.

Mandarin, China’s primary language, is understood to have highly complex interpersonal codes. Buck may not have grasped the profound significance of this. Hong Kong, on China’s border, was under British rule until 1997, fostering a strong English influence, though Chinese languages likely remained dominant.

Until around 1997, China was a mysterious region. The Chinese Communist Party imposed strict controls on clothing and more. It seems they reduced the Chinese emperor to a mere gardener, stripping him of reverence and placing him in a degraded position, akin to being addressed as “eda” or ordered to fetch tea.

China’s situation resembles the ant colonies mentioned earlier. It has a history of emperors, dynasties, wars, and savagery. Animals are killed for meat in brutal ways, similar to how hyenas feed, with little regard for first ending the animal’s life. Snakes, dogs, and others are killed and eaten with extreme cruelty. If the English are true humans, the Chinese are not. Conversely, if the Chinese are true humans, the English are not.

Mandarin, with around 50,000 characters, lacks an alphabet, distinguishing it from English-speaking beings. These characters don’t evoke sounds but ideas and meanings in the mind. A seemingly simple character can convey vast concepts, a complexity even Malayalam speakers might struggle to grasp.

Such is the vast difference between the Chinese and the English. China’s linguistic environment is intensely feudal. Yet, as mentioned earlier, the English viewed two-legged creatures as human, which led them to recognise the Bushmen—locally seen as venomous creatures in South Africa—as human. However, in Travancore and other South Indian regions, king cobras, revered as divine, were seen by the English as mere venomous creatures.

Why this writing veered into China will be explained in the next piece.

[VED]

Let’s now discuss a few things about China.

In my childhood, China was defined in a way entirely disconnected from the China we see today. Very few people had visited it. Though Indian Communist leaders proclaimed it a communist haven, I understood it was no paradise. I won’t delve into the supporting details now.

Frankly, it seems even Communist leaders lacked a clear understanding of how people live equally in the paradise communism supposedly creates. I won’t explore that now either.

Before 1997, American garment companies set up factories in Hong Kong and Taiwan, producing textiles at low costs (sweat labor) for sale in the U.S., sparking significant leftist outcry in America. The accusation was that these companies exploited poor workers in these regions. The reality was that visitors to these factories saw workers with a demeanour of extreme subservience in their faces, minds, and conversations—a phenomenon Americans couldn’t fully grasp. This subservience likely stemmed from the Chinese language itself, specifically the hierarchical “you (high)👆 - you (low)👇” structure, with these workers at the lowest rung.

It seems modern China prefers not to showcase such workers to outsiders.

About 40 years ago, I watched an English film about the lives of two women in Hong Kong. The film was in English, with characters speaking English. Yet, it was clear to me that their interactions were governed by non-English language codes, shaped by the constraints and pressures of those codes, not English.

Had English commerce not entered China and disrupted its social atmosphere, the Chinese could have been likened to a specific ant species within the colonies I mentioned earlier.

Regarding China’s history, Genghis Khan, a Mongolian king, is often highlighted. He reportedly invaded China, established the Yuan Dynasty, and attacked Europe. It’s said he built the largest empire in world history. However, as I trace the spread of English governance worldwide, I find no trace of such a vast empire. Everywhere, I see populations trapped in the dominance of local linguistic social structures.

English language and movements entered these environments like a radiant light, scattering the shackles of software constraints. Yet, English movements often operated with a sense of their own absurdity. They gave local social systems—often neglected even by their own people—definitions, names, and significance. Terms like King, Queen, country, nation, empire, emperor, empress, command, order, instruction, message, parliament, democracy, people, subject, army, military, Commander, Commander-in-chief, captain, soldier, police, teacher, student, school, and education were superimposed onto local realities.



The great error here is that these English words evoke imaginations not aligned with the realities in other linguistic environments. Such naming can create misleading perceptions among new generations about their heritage.

Consider a couple of points. In English, Teacher and Student refer to individuals in a You-You, He-He, She-She relationship. In languages like Malabari, they exist in a hierarchical you (high)👆 - you (low)👇, he (high) - he (low), she (high) - she (low) framework—entities unimaginable in English. If English speakers are true humans, those in feudal languages are not, and vice versa. I won’t delve deeper into this now.

Similarly, English King and Queen differ vastly from Malayalam’s rajav (king) and rani (queen). Language codes themselves highlight this difference.

Another point: children of those who gain citizenship in English nations grow up in an English social atmosphere, their minds, bodies, and clothing imbued with the human individuality English affords. Yet, when imagining their ancestral history, many envision their kings, queens, workers, and slaves as English-like, cloaked in English allure. Even Mahabharata characters are imagined differently from how people in India did in my childhood. Today, people in England imagine Gandhi almost as an Englishman.

I plan to continue discussing China in the next writing.

[VED]

In my childhood, most people in India and other Asian countries were mentally unable to see English speakers, or even other white races, as equals. There are many subtle, intertwined details related to this, but I won’t delve into them now.

Among a group of English-speaking people, many around the world may have sensed something distinct about them. From a Malayalam perspective, it’s quickly apparent that if you could pull one or more of these individuals into Malayalam’s framework—using terms like nee (you, low), avan (he, low), aval (she, low), eda, or edi—their distinctiveness could be erased. However, without proficiency in English, others cannot access the smoothness and egalitarian nature of their communication.

The Chinese faced a similar issue.

It’s crucial to understand that the relative inferiority complex in other language speakers isn’t caused by the English language. Rather, it’s the degrading word codes in local languages that foster this.

For example, in a rural police station, individuals cannot address a constable as ningal (you, respectful); the police address them as nee (you, low). These people lack the mental individuality of their English counterparts doing the same job. But if they move to England, the mental growth they experience is unimaginable from an Indian perspective.

The writing seems to be veering off track.

In 1997, Britain handed Hong Kong to China. I won’t delve into the folly of this decision. This event brought a different kind of mental growth to Chinese officials, who now governed an English-speaking populace, sparking an international mindset in China.

Still, the Chinese mentality remained distinct from that of the English. Wealthy Chinese began learning English, essentially installing a new Operating System in their brains.

Here, it’s worth noting that the human brain likely operates with a specific Operating System, and language may be a core component or even an enveloping layer. Language significantly influences and determines the system’s operations. Installing two different languages in the brain introduces the influence and operational modes of two distinct software systems.

However, installing multiple feudal languages (e.g., Malayalam, Hindi, Tamil) may not significantly alter the brain’s Operating System; it only enriches vocabulary, ideas, and abilities like poetic appreciation. It doesn’t fundamentally change mental outlook, social perspectives, or interpersonal dynamics.

But when English is installed, it triggers a radically different software system, disrupting existing social perceptions, interpersonal links, and imaginative frameworks. This creates conflicting mental states and social behaviours within the same individual, akin to running incompatible Operating Systems on one computer. (There’s more to say on this, but not now.)

While this mental shift occurred among the Chinese, their authorities seemed intent on suppressing English within their local language’s framework. From the pedestal of English, they secretly devised strategies to challenge, defeat, and dominate other beings globally defined as human.

Meanwhile, English nations pursued naive goals like uplifting the Chinese and bringing them democracy. This is like an individual taming and caging a group of carnivorous wild beasts, unaware of their covert plans.

English colonial movements worldwide repeatedly faced this dynamic. Astonishingly, it seems the English still lack significant awareness of this, even today.

[VED]

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