Vol 5. A variety of language experiences

[VED]

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[VED]

This writing has strayed quite a distance from its path. Figuring out where to rejoin the main path has become a bit of a problem. Because, at about two or three points, it seems possible to get back onto the main path.

When staying in the flow of writing, writing becomes easy. If one steps away from that flow, writing becomes difficult.

What was being mentioned were my formal education days.

A person who, at a very young age, had a habit of reading high-quality English. However, those around me had no connection to such a thing. To put it plainly, it was the experience of two people with entirely different mental streams living together, almost like two different animals. It was often clear that those who studied together or lived together in the hostel noticed a difference.

For many of them, it felt like they came to realize there was an entire world they were unaware of. During pre-degree studies, someone staying in the hostel together remarked that there was something different in the pronunciation of the English words I used. "You don’t say them the way we do."

This is how English was through the Malayalam education in Travancore back then: Want - "vaant," Was - "vaas," Is - "ees," Wash - "vash," Work - "wark." These foolish pronunciations have, along with the spread of Malayalam in Malabar, gotten mixed in today.

In Malayalam, the pronunciation of most English words cannot even be written as they truly are.

It’s true that for those studying together, having someone with something different inside them was helpful to an extent. But at the same time, there were also those with a clear competitive spirit, eager to trap, deceive, or mock.

Memories come up of experiences with different competitive tendencies in different individuals. This urge to compete is a mental process commonly found in feudal languages.

Some openly tried to prove in front of others that I was a fool and an ignoramus, as per experience. One problem with this is that I do not recall ever trying to retaliate with such efforts. No matter how much one did things without a competitive spirit, a competitive streak was noticeably present in others in return.

There’s no desire to delve into personal life in this writing. Still, this much can be stated here. There are many other backgrounds in life. Those aren’t being written about here.

The people around, many of them very close. Yet, for some reason, there was this relentless competitive spirit and an insatiable desire to prove in front of others that they were better than me—what that stemmed from wasn’t understood by me back then. But later, as more understanding about feudal linguistic codes emerged, it began to dawn that this kind of competitive spirit is a creation of those linguistic codes.

[VED]

Here are one or two personal experiences that help illustrate some linguistic matters:

Around the time I was studying in seventh grade, I lived for a while in a house some distance away, near Alleppy.

One day, a few young degree students came there to study together for an exam. One of their English textbooks was *Far from the Madding Crowd* by Thomas Hardy, as I recall. For them, it was impossible to make any sense of it. They found the book’s English to be incredibly dense and impenetrable.

Then, someone in the house introduced me, saying, "This guy knows English well." So, they showed me the book. I had already read it lightly once or twice before, because, for some reason, it had been at home for a few months.

I had read the book just casually—I don’t remember enjoying it. The intricacies of the story didn’t particularly strike me, and today, I don’t recall the plot either.

When the degree students gave me the book, I skimmed the parts they needed and explained them. I doubt it was of much real help to them.

Still, they were utterly astonished. They stared wide-eyed, as if some great genius or prodigy stood before them. In Malayalam, words tied to age struggle to capture this kind of astonishment.

But the flaw in their amazement lies elsewhere. If someone knows Malayalam, they can read and understand Malayalam. If someone knows English, they can read and understand English. There’s no real evidence of genius in that.

Yet, I recall another person saying something similar on a different occasion: "The head is only this big, but look at all that comes out of it!"

To be honest, I’ve heard people with no knowledge of English say such things about many who do know it.

The truth is that knowledge of English genuinely breaks down various chains and barriers in the mind. For those whose minds are filled with all sorts of chains, knots, fences, indelible codes of subservience, obstacles like immovable rocks, and rigid perspectives like iron bars, it might sometimes feel like those who know English have some extra ability.

However, for those carrying such mental shackles, the thought might arise in others that if all their bonds were loosened, they’d spiral out of control. If English were taught to these folks, what if something like that happened?

[VED]

After completing my pre-degree, I spent a short while (1978-79) in a remote village where I met someone studying in about the seventh class. His father had a small job in a Middle Eastern country. During our conversation, I briefly mentioned the greatness of English. I gave reasons about how one could establish a connection with the English language in various simple ways.

I showed him some books.

The area was the sort of remote village you’d describe as being at the edge of the world.

It became clear that this person was seriously moving in this direction. His father, doing a modest job abroad, would likely have seen the reality of the facts I mentioned every day, making it something he was familiar with. The greatness of English.

When I returned to the village for a few months after completing my degree, I learned from this person that he was now studying at a college in the city.

There was an essay competition in English at the college. He told me the topic. He asked me to write the essay for him. Back then, I didn’t have the magical tool of a computer at my disposal. Even so, I wrote an essay in English on the topic he suggested.

He took bits and pieces from that essay and used them in the college essay competition. Later, I found out that he won first place in the English essay competition at the college. For someone from a remote village to outshine others in the city must have been a significant event.

I’ve stood behind the scenes of many people’s lives, contributing to their great successes in this way. The main reason I don’t find it a burden to offer such help is that I have no personal stake in the goals they’re competing for.

In life, many people have listed their achievements—big and small—and expressed a sentiment to me like, “I haven’t managed to achieve any of this myself.”

But the flaw in that sentiment is that none of those people’s life goals align with mine.

When interacting with others, I often behave with mental codes rooted in English. This is an arrangement that causes significant energy drain in feudal languages. However, this mindset rarely causes issues in the outside world. That said, behind the scenes, many people—including family members—tend to stab me in the back, which can be a problem. I’ll elaborate on that later.

I had the chance to meet the person I mentioned earlier in a foreign country. At that point, he was in a job that was of a decent standard compared to the small-scale jobs other Indians were doing in that country. Relatively speaking, he was a big achiever. But that’s not the only perspective in the world—there are other relativities too.

It was around 1999. I needed to show a draft of my writing to some foreigners. This person could significantly help me with that.

I gave him the draft to read and made my request.

The response was striking. “Who are you to have this idea?” he said—in English, since our conversation was in English. While it’s true that the word “nee” (lowest you) doesn’t exist in English, when feudal language speakers use English, you can discern from their tone, expression, and other emotional cues whether they mean “nee” (lowest you), “ningal” (stature-neutral you), or even “Thangal” (highest you).

After reading the draft, he seemed mentally rattled. It was as if an office peon had tried to outsmart an IAS officer—his behaviour suggested that.

The way he later acted implied that it was some kind of affront for a person with no formal English education or a grand job title to write a book in English. He hurled insults over the phone.

A year later, when I met him again, he said, “The things you wrote about aren’t unknown to me. I have written the same thing in a publication for the university where I work, a few months ago.”

By then, my draft had already been published online as a full book: *March of the Evil Empires: English versus the Feudal Languages*. It’s available for download on various websites. Check this link:

[Google Search can help find it, though it sometimes feels like a decoy flips the results. If you type just “March of the ev” into Google, it suggests *March of the Evil Empire* (singular). Clicking that takes you in an unrelated direction. People might give up there, distracted by other things. But typing *March of the Evil Empires* (with the ‘s’) clearly will lead you to the book.]

Years later, while in Deverkovil village, a young man I’d taught English to happened to mention in front of others, including this person, that he was training in English with “Mr. Dev.” This person reportedly said, “From him (avan) (lowest him)? Who’d learn English from him (lowest him)?”

There’s a linguistic game at play in that statement:

1. “From him” (lowest him - avan) (mocking the learning).
2. “From him” (highest him - avaru / adheham) (respecting the learning).

The first mocks the effort; the second elevates it. English doesn’t have this kind of nuance built in.

[VED]

The writing must gradually shift towards slightly more personal matters. For this writing, there is no loyalty whatsoever to anyone. Nor will there be any attempt in this writing to express selfish loyalty or obligation towards me.

However, towards the untainted English movement—that is, towards ancient England and the globally prevailing English governance—loyalty, obligation, love, and all forms of affection will be visibly present throughout this writing, as clear as daylight, without any hesitation, shame, embarrassment, or prick of conscience.

Providing people with the opportunity to master English is an experience that very quickly elevates them to a higher pedestal. Granting such a pedestal to others competing socially can be seen, from the perspective of feudal languages, as foolishness, lack of discernment, absence of judgement, and ignorance—all of which become abundantly clear.

So why then persist in displaying such pure nonsense? There is no clear answer to offer for this. Yet, this writing must venture a little further forward.

There are many formally well-educated individuals who do not know English. In truth, they do not experience any significant weakness because of it in their daily lives. For example, take a doctor. This person does not know English. Yet, the patients crowding in front of the consulting room, along with others, offer profound respect within the feudal linguistic atmosphere. Carrying this respect and clinging to it, one can enjoy life. This is because condescending words can be used towards many patients, increasing their subservience upon hearing them. It is a pleasant affair.

Now consider a doctor who knows English well. There is no crowd in front of the consulting room. The reality is that, in English, there is no need for it. This doctor’s mental horizons are far broader. When speaking to patients and acquaintances in English, a different kind of personal connection is forged.

The doctor with limited English familiarity is, to a small extent, aware of this issue. Constantly maintaining a façade of royal status is indeed an utterly distasteful situation. Yet, if desired, this doctor could pointedly remark that he has more patients, who stand before him bowing in deference.

In this context, another person explains simple ways for this doctor to acquire knowledge of English. The one offering this advice knows English well and is therefore a person whose mental horizons extend far beyond those of the doctor. In English, they maintain refined personal relationships.

If both individuals were placed side by side without reference to their professions, one could tangibly sense the refinement of this mental development.

If this doctor were taught English, the next person they encounter would rise sky-high from atop the pedestal of "doctor." The newly established personal relationships would carry a sense of simplicity.

If the person who provided the means to learn English does not possess such a pedestal, then the doctor might even feel a mental barrier to acknowledging that this individual facilitated such mental growth and ease.

This issue exists across all sorts of skilled professions. A carpenter, a motor vehicle mechanic, a computer technician—various people with limited knowledge of English. If any of them were to gain a solid grasp of English, the resulting individual would be an entirely different person.

The primary reason for this is that, in English-speaking contexts, individuals do not perpetually need to rely on the support or shelter of others. This, too, might be perceived as a problem by some.

There is another matter related to this. Perhaps it can be addressed in the next piece of writing.

[VED]

A social scene funtioning entirely inside an English linguistic atmosphere.

Among them, there is a social environment devoid of terms like lowest you - middle-level you - highest you, younger brother - elder brother, younger sister - elder sister, lowest him - highest him, lowest her - highest him. There are none of the clamour, harsh tones, or eagerness to play the leader that are commonly found in feudal language environments. Overall, it is a gentle atmosphere of communication. Most often, people address each other simply by name, without any consideration of age as a factor. Occasionally, some might—albeit rarely—be addressed with "Mr.," "Mrs.," or "Miss" prefixed to their names.

If a group of feudal language speakers were taught English to create such a platform, would this kind of atmosphere naturally emerge?

The reality is that it would not happen. For those whose personal relationships are encoded with terms like "elder brother," "younger brother," lowest you, middle-level you, or highest you, being told to simply call each other by name without such distinctions would result in nothing but confusion, bewilderment, and an atmosphere of mutual resentment, disgust, and unease.

The reason is that a pristine English atmosphere and a feudal language atmosphere are fundamentally different. If one were to bleed into the other, it would be akin to a fever spreading. However, if English communication is introduced with great care, discernment, substantial knowledge, and well-prepared measures, gently overlaying feudal language environments like a matchstick spreading light, a pleasant social atmosphere can be created. This is not something that can be achieved through trickery or sleight of hand.

Wearing English-style clothing, donning coats and suits, uniforms, caps, shoes, ties, standing at attention and saluting, amassing expensive cars, bungalows, air conditioning, and so forth—doing all this in a hollow, superficial manner—would not even come close to replicating the essence of pristine English.

The mesmerising atmosphere of English cannot be crafted through feudal languages. The magic of English does not reside in any of the aforementioned things. Rather, it rests on simplicity, straightforwardness, lack of complexity, authenticity, and unpretentiousness—these are the foundations of English.

Whether there exists a social atmosphere simpler than that of English is unknown. It might exist somewhere, perhaps where a language as simple as English prevails.

[VED]

It is also important to mention the interaction between men and women. The nature of interactions between men and women in feudal languages is not the same as in English-speaking social settings. The words for man and woman have significant sound differences compared to the English terms man and woman. The nuance that words like boy, girl, male, and female possess in English is not present in the corresponding Malayalam terms. In fact, the word for male itself has varying indicant levels, linking it to various social contexts, both higher and lower. This connection influences its pronunciation and sound.

Words such as Lowest she-girl (pennu), Lowest he-boy (avan), lowest she (aval), lowest level boy (chekkan / cherukkan) &c. relate to the lower aspects of word codes. However, the matter extends beyond this. There are differences in how people interact across languages in this region, compared to interactions in English. Today, there are many platforms in India encouraging young women and men to interact and grow together.

Before pursuing such interactions, it is prudent to consider some related matters. Many concepts of human equality found in Malayalam do not have equivalents in English. This is because the pronouns used when people interact—such as You, Your, Yours, He, His, Him, She, Her, Hers—implicitly create a sense of equality.

In feudal languages, however, three distinct types of equality can emerge from the pronouns: lowest you, middle level you, and highest you. When a woman and a man address each other, the choice between lowest you, middle level you, and highest you (saar / maadam) creates three different types of relational dynamics.

In each of these three types of relationships, there will be significant differences in topics of conversation, their levels, and what can be said or deemed inappropriate. In the nee - nee relationship (lowest you - lowest you relationship), the subjects of conversation even reach out to the lowest quality level, allowing for greater freedom of expression. It seems that this kind of relational freedom does not exist in English.

It is essential to study these dynamics thoroughly before inviting male-female interactions in feudal languages. This is because these three types of personal relationships can influence many other interpersonal dynamics. Each personal relationship can pull individuals into different levels of language codes, which will affect how they relate to others.

For example, when encountering a woman, deciding whether to address her by name, as elder sister, Nee (lowest you), ningal (middle level you), or maadam (highest you) will depend on the relationship between this individual and others in the language code. The position within these word codes can also affect one’s family, husband, and children.

In English, it is dangerous to make assumptions based on direct comparisons, as the language codes represent a different world altogether.

Above all, one must consider the absurdity of compulsory education. The societies in this country, scattered everywhere, are chaotic and semi-primitive. The reality is that those who are born, raised, educated, and employed within small, insular environments have little understanding of the complexities of this land. The society here is impermeable, composed of multiple layers stacked one upon another.

It is important to note that the issues mentioned above should not be linked to sexual anarchy, as that is a separate topic.

[VED]

This writing has slightly veered off the main path of writing once again. Nevertheless, let’s mention this too and get back on track.

The term "gender equalisation" has started being heard from deeply educated social science experts. This topic has some very complex structures. I won’t delve into them here.

Women and men achieve the greatest degree of equality in places where the English language is spoken regionally. The primary reason for this is that in that language, words like "you," "your," "yours," "he," "his," "him," "she," "her," and "hers" have only a single form.

In line with the defining designs of language codes, individuals are arranged accordingly.

Speaking generally about the languages of this subcontinent, in the husband-wife relationship, the wife is addressed as "nee" (inhi - lowest you, in Malabari), while the husband is "chetan" (elder brother) (Ingal in Malabari - highest you). In cases where the wife is "chechi" (elder sister) and the husband is "nee" (you – lowest), the wife comes out on top.

Without changing the language codes, this disparity in the husband-wife relationship cannot be altered.

However, things are a bit more complicated than that. In society, a wife and husband are just a minor element. The language that binds everyone together also defines everyone. In feudal languages, a person’s wife is defined as "his - aval (lowest she)." Because of this, even if a lone husband wishes to elevate his wife’s status, it’s only possible to a certain extent within their relationship.

Yet, if she so desires, a wife can, on her own standing, lower her husband’s status through what might be called "impertinence" (or "kuruthakkedu" in Malabari).

It’s understood that women are not personally lacking in capability. If there’s any lack of ability—social or otherwise—it’s tied to matters of status or being brought up in a less refined way. This writer knows many women in high positions, and in none of them have I seen any mental inferiority. However, among women who climb to high positions in feudal languages, the gentle disposition often referred to as "feminine nature" tends to get worn away. This phenomenon might be more common among women who mentally compete with men in feudal language contexts.

There’s a suspicion that in feudal languages, what’s called "feminine nature" might be tied to a disposition of submissiveness. It seems that the intrusion of feudal language speakers into English-speaking nations has also eroded the traditional feminine nature of women there.

[VED]

However, beyond the points mentioned above, there’s another far deeper truth. In feudal language societies, the person who rises to a higher position tends to select someone for a subordinate role who is significantly less knowledgeable, possesses less personality, and displays excessive subservience towards them.

This dynamic can be seen in relationships like doctor and assistant, lawyer and clerk, military officer and soldier, IPS officer and constable, and so on—a collective of individuals marked by such hierarchy. Adolf Hitler’s famous book Mein Kampf also mentions this phenomenon. This disparity lends strength and stability to such relationships. Conversely, if the subordinate displays elevated mental capabilities independently, this collective structure would collapse in disarray.

Only in regional English-speaking societies, or environments with similar linguistic atmospheres, is there no significant need for such a stark disparity in personality, knowledge, or communication skills between the person at the top and the one below.

Viewed this way, in regions of this subcontinent with rigid feudal languages, a man, through the traditional practice of bride-viewing, often marries someone who is less capable, shorter in stature, submissive, and so forth. A hierarchy akin to that between a lawyer and his clerk can sometimes be observed in such husband-wife relationships. If this hierarchy persists, the husband-wife bond is more likely to gain strength and stability.

However, in such marital relationships, a wife attempting to establish equality with her husband can often feel akin to a housemaid trying to assert equality with the lady of the house. This is because the wife was chosen as someone with the personality suited only for a subordinate role. The husband wouldn’t wish to stand as an equal to her, because someone capable of standing equal to a submissive wife might well be one of the many others beneath him.

Yet, it’s a fact that anyone can grow mentally. Even a housemaid, if given the opportunity, could exhibit elevated mental qualities. The reality is that in feudal language environments, no one facilitates such opportunities.

The situation of wives in feudal languages is much the same. If a wife and husband become equals in a feudal language context, the relationship is more likely to suffer damage. If a wife, addressed as "nee" (you – lowest), tries to establish equality with a husband who ought to be called "chetan" (elder brother) without showing subservience, it may manifest as a competition with him.

This isn’t to say that the husband is a good person and the wife is at fault. What’s being highlighted here is the act of stepping out of the slot assigned by language codes. Such an action would trigger changes in many other aspects tied to those language codes. A soldier might occasionally prove more capable than a military officer. But if, based on this, the soldier leaps forward to take leadership, it would disrupt the military order.

To place women and men on equal footing, numerous societal elements would need to change. Even the process of cooking food might require alteration. However, no matter what is done, a feudal language environment will never become an English language environment unless the regional language itself becomes English.

This writer, in 1999, wrote a book about marital life at the request of a renowned publishing company in Delhi. However, after writing it, due to sheer selfishness or some other reason, it was never submitted to that publisher. Since the book was written with financial gain in mind, it doesn’t reflect this writer’s natural flair or spontaneity. Instead, it was crafted with various limitations and, in parts, with the readers’ interests in focus. Nevertheless, the book contains numerous insights.

[VED]

It was thought that the path of writing could be redirected through the competitive pursuit of education. However, for some reason, the mind isn’t moving towards that path. Ways to re-enter it are visible ahead.

Now, I’m venturing into entirely personal matters.

If an individual, or a group of individuals, were born and raised in this land without learning feudal languages or being influenced by feudal language codes, would any noticeable differences, as envisioned by this writer, manifest in them?

This question has lingered in my mind for a long time. In my book March of the Evil Empires: English versus the Feudal Languages, I hinted at this and even broader issues with a question mark. There’s a suggestion that words have connections beyond the realm of physical sciences and, moreover, possess a design power that transcends the DNA and genes responsible for shaping the physical and mental traits of living organisms.

Food plays a significant role in designing the human body. But that alone isn’t enough. It’s claimed that DNA and genes can control the physical growth provided by food, as well as shape a person’s facial expressions, physical abilities, and intellectual capacities.

Such a powerful theoretical perspective surely requires robust evidence and more.

When this writer claims that mere words and word clusters—seemingly trivial—possess such abilities, or perhaps even something beyond that, it’s easy to see it, at first glance, as profound foolishness and nonsense.

However, to provide experimental backing for this idea, someone would need to boldly step forward. They’d have to raise their children without any influence from feudal languages and then provide evidence.

I doubt anyone from this subcontinent would be willing to undertake such an experiment. Just thinking about it sends all sorts of shocks flashing through the mind like lightning bolts.

The reason is that refraining from teaching one’s children feudal languages is itself a monumental task. After all, everyone around speaks feudal languages.

Beyond this lies an even graver issue. In feudal languages, various individuals have the right to impose threads of authority over each person. Saying that such languages cannot be allowed might also be seen as questioning the rights of many.

[VED]

Subjecting one’s own children to an experiment that no one would ordinarily dare to undertake could, to some extent, reflect a degree of detachment, impartiality, distance, selflessness, lack of interest, negligence, lack of affection, or absence of fondness from a father’s perspective, when viewed through the lens of Malayalam.

This is because, by not addressing children as "nee" (lowest you), the closeness, authority, and freedom that this word explicitly conveys in that relationship are lost. In English, the word "you" indicates and manifests an equal sense of closeness, authority, and freedom in both directions.

To be honest, those who switch between English and feudal languages wouldn’t truly grasp this difference. This is because, in situations where they need strong closeness, authority, and freedom over their children, they voluntarily shift the conversation to feudal languages. In other instances, they carry on in English.

At the same time, English speakers have no experiential understanding of the authority, excessive freedom over others, or intense closeness that the feudal language term "nee" provides.

Children addressed as "nee," in truth, serve as a group of followers who bolster their parents’ strength in social settings. Even when others speak condescendingly, having a group of children whom one can address as "nee" acts as a band of supporters. The respect they visibly offer spreads as a form of social power.

This is why, in feudal language environments, not having children represents a loss of social strength that’s incomprehensible from an English perspective.

For this very reason, in feudal languages, some parents deliberately control and limit the growth of certain children.

I’ve heard life experiences related to this from many people.

Once, a person I met who worked on the streets expressed his grief over his son being stabbed to death by someone: "If he were still with me, he would’ve been my strength."

Even when others addressed this man as "nee," or when younger people showed him disdain, having someone who offered servility to him and whom he could affectionately and authoritatively call "nee" or "eda" would have made a noticeable difference in how others behaved and spoke to him.

Another story I heard came from a different state: In a household, all the children were exceptional athletes. They attended physical education colleges in Patiala and elsewhere, earned degrees, and became physical education teachers in various colleges. But the widowed mother didn’t let one son go. This son eventually joined the police as a constable. Meanwhile, some of his peers who were athletes with him rose to become Deputy Superintendents of Police (DySPs) in the armed forces. The man, held back by his mother and stuck as a constable, suffered unbearable emotional pain.

When someone who knew the mother asked her about this harsh decision, her response was: "With my other children becoming college lecturers, I get more social respect from this one being a constable than I would from their achievements."

This notion of "social respect" as a pedestal doesn’t exist in English, one might say. Whether English speakers would agree is uncertain, though, because English does have the word "respect." But where does that "respect" lie compared to this?

In English, "respect" doesn’t affect words like "you," "your," "yours," "he," "his," "him," "she," "her," or "hers." In Malayalam, "bahumanam" (respect) exerts control, pressure, pushing, pulling, and tugging over words, enabling stress, separation, mental conflict, and more on an individual. It is actually not respect that is offered, but servility.

One clear reason for the population increase in feudal language nations lies in their language codes.

[VED]

In the previous writing, I mentioned the various qualitative benefits that arise when speaking to one’s own children in feudal languages. Given these advantages, one might naturally wonder why there is an inclination to abandon such languages.

While a broader answer could be provided, one can highlight the social calamity pointed out in the earlier writing: the phenomenon where, through their children, every parent ends up raising a band of followers. Each parent becomes a sort of leader, warrior, commander, or the like. Social communication, in this context, could either turn into a form of confrontation or resemble a gathering of a single military faction.

Such a social atmosphere is entirely absent in unadulterated English communication.

Though it may be delightful to recite and listen to the tales of heroic warriors, it seems that such matters cannot foster social elevation or qualitative improvement.

When the English arrived in Malabar in the 1710s, the sight they encountered was this: every 20 kilometres, there was a king, a petty king, a commander, a ruler, a lord, and so forth. Moreover, within each petty royal family, there were various rival factions clashing with one another.

All in all, there were skirmishes, stabbings, killings, war cries and more, over the slightest of provocation. It appears that the English often couldn’t even discern the clear provocation behind much of this.

Yet, in truth, when analysing several historical developments, this writer understands that behind many such provocations lay trivialities—mere words like Nee - lowest you, eda, enthada? or mere first-name-calling, such as avan - lowest him, aval - lowest her. As this writing moves towards historical events, these matters can be elaborated upon more clearly.

[VED]

I have two children. These two individuals had entirely different experiences from the outset, owing to their distinct circumstances.

Being separate individuals, I cannot speak about them with the same depth as one might describe one’s own affairs, as doing so would require their permission.

However, I believe it’s worth mentioning here some of the things I did as part of observational experiments. Some readers might glean insights from this information—perhaps about human intelligence, how the brain processes and stores information, the development of physical abilities, and other related matters.

I was able to fully provide certain environments, prepared in advance, to the first daughter even before she was born. By the time the second daughter was born, significant changes had occurred in life, and a markedly different environment was in place prior to her birth.

Nevertheless, after their births, both children were exposed to a substantial English-speaking environment. In the case of the second child, there was a disruption for one or two months, but she ultimately received an English environment even stronger than that of the first. The second child’s English language style is superior to that of the first. However, it is the first child who has a deeper connection with English classical literature.

What I am about to write is not penned with any sense of competition. Rather, this endeavour is solely an attempt to clarify the influence of language codes.

Moreover, my book, the SHROUDED SATANISM in FEUDAL LANGUAGES! (2013), which has been among the most downloaded of my writings on the internet, has already addressed these matters to a significant extent.

[VED]

In this writing, I will refer to the linguistic measures taken by me concerning my first child. These involved the implementation of significant plans. This project was pursued without any prior clarity about what the goal was or what the outcome might be.

It was carried out alongside many other routine activities of daily life.

Even before the daughter was born, certain environments were naturally arranged—or at least facilitated—to create positive mental and personality influences. While I won’t detail what these entailed here, they generally involved actions conducive to fostering an elevated mental state in the mother. Additionally, there was an atmosphere of gentle simplicity provided by English.

It was ensured that no situation would arise where the individual’s dignity might be compromised. Although some family members felt there was an element of foolishness in all this, they regarded it as a short-lived eccentricity and thus did not pose any significant objections.

While this observational experiment was, to an extent, a resounding success, by the time the daughter reached around nine years of age (approximately 2004-05), it encountered a major setback. In other words, the experiment had to be halted midway. I’ll elaborate on that later.

When the daughter was born, the observational experiment showed signs of spectacular success. The newborn exuded an overall radiance—a brilliance that no one in the surroundings, or in the maternal or paternal family, possessed. Many people explicitly remarked on this.

Moving forward, I’ll describe the steps taken by me up to 2005. As a writer, this wealth of experience is invaluable.

What follows is an account of the informal training provided to her (that is, the daughter) in various matters.

Here, at the outset, a word code needs to be defined. Typically, no one refers to their own daughter or son as Avaru / Adheham (highest he / him, she / her) in everyday usage. However, on occasion, if someone calls the home of, say, an IAS officer, the parent might use such terms to impress upon the caller the greatness of their child.

That is not the intention here, however. In fact, to be truthful, I very rarely refer to anyone as "avan" (lowest "he") or "aval" (lowest "she"). At the same time, the word "nee" (lowest "you") is occasionally used in Malayalam to address certain close relations when there’s no other alternative.

Generally speaking, though, it’s a fact that I have no one who could be described as a "suhruth" (friend) in Malayalam or a "changathi" (mate) in the Malabar dialect. Consequently, there are no mates to address as "nee." Although there were classmates during school days with whom such a bond existed, none of them are considered mates.

I’ll mention one or two experiences related to the inappropriate use of "avar" (they) or "ivar" (these people) in the next piece of writing.

[VED]

It doesn’t seem that merely doing things as everyone else does, or following the usual course of action, would constitute an experiment. Observation might be possible, but for both experimentation and observation to occur, one would need to act differently—or even in a contrary manner.

In matters of language codes, I have often operated in a perverse way. Frequently, the social disruption caused by the perverse use of word codes provides significant insight into their astonishing power and strength. However, it’s worth noting that I do not generally wish to use word codes to suppress anyone. Only in a provocative atmosphere would a decision contrary to this stance be taken.

I suppose I could mention those instances at some point later. For now, though, I’ll record one or two relevant experiences here.

The words avar / ivar (highest he / him) are the subject of discussion here. If a student refers to a teacher using avar (highest he / him), it aligns with the social disciplinary codes and reinforces the teacher-student relationship in a feudal language context.

However, if a teacher refers to a student as ivar or avar (highest he / him), it might feel like something is amiss.

The same applies to words like avan (lowest he) and aval (lowest she). When used in an appropriate direction, they strengthen a relationship. When used inappropriately, they can cause disruption in the relationship.

It’s worth remembering that English has no trace of such issues.

It seems to me that there has never been an instance of referring to my own wife with the word aval (lowest she). The English terms she, her, and hers pose a persistent problem for me: into which Malayalam word code should they be translated?

Yet, in the outside world—particularly when visiting government offices—this issue becomes unavoidable when there’s a need to refer to my wife. In such cases, I use avar or ivar (highest she / her) to refer to her. This often seems to strike the official in front of me as distasteful.

I recall an instance when an official became genuinely irritated. It appears he reacted under the impression that I was using avar or ivar to belittle him.

Reflecting on that reaction brings another incident to mind, from about 20 years ago. At that time, I was running a business. There were a few young workers involved. Standing in front of me was the owner of another business, displaying a slightly submissive demeanour. Pointing to one of my workers, I said something like, Ivar (highest he / him) will go there and take care of that matter.

The other business owner seemed utterly bewildered. Had I instead said, Ivan (lowest he) will go there and take care of that matter, it would have felt like a natural experience, implying authority over the worker.

I’ve highlighted these incidents specifically to illustrate the conceptual intent and purity of purpose behind using words like avar / ivar. However, in the context relevant here, these word usages will be employed in an entirely different manner.

[VED]

When someone who would typically be referred to as "avan" (lowest "he") is instead addressed as "ayaal" (middle-level "he"), "avar" (highest he), or "addeham" (highest "he"), that person is relatively elevated to a higher level. Conversely, the speaker may relatively descend.

Similarly, in the hierarchical flow of "avar-avan" (highest he - lowest he) cascading down from a higher to a lower level, if at a certain rung someone lower is referred to as "avar" or "addeham" instead of "avan," then, frankly speaking, both the speaker and the person referred to step outside the feudal language code’s designed flow of superiority and inferiority.

However, it’s worth specifically noting here that the communication between me and my daughter was entirely in English. This fact alone ensured that my daughter was not entangled in the familial hierarchical communication thread mentioned above.

But what needs to be highlighted here is that my daughter exhibited, from a very young age, clear abilities and efficiency surpassing me in intellect, English proficiency, physical agility, mental acuity, mathematics, computer usage, software coding, and more.

How this was cultivated is one of the things I intend to mention here. While this and the distancing from feudal languages are, to an extent, distinct matters, in reality, both are intertwined in this particular individual.

It was noted earlier that this person displayed a radiance from birth. Reflecting later, it becomes clear that there were specific reasons for this. Though I won’t elaborate on those reasons here, the truth is they are connected to English. However, it’s also true that such an outcome could potentially be achieved without English. The brilliance fostered by feudal languages, though, might operate under a different code. The phenomenon could be similar in both cases.

It’s particularly worth mentioning that I am not from an upper caste. On the contrary, until English rule took root in Malabar, my community was considered part of the lower castes, even though traditionally it had white skin complexion.

There’s another point to add. The period being referenced was a time in my life marked by considerable limitations, financial strain, and other challenges to some degree.

Yet, even in this regard, one clarification is necessary. While the undertone of financial strain may appear in several places in this writing, there’s a slight definitional error in this phrasing. What that is can be addressed later.

As this writing veers into deeply personal territory, it’s important to specify that these matters are being written to express the idea that positive social, psychological, and anthropological changes can be brought about in this land by banishing feudal languages through language codes. This is not about personal pride or anything of that sort.

Revolutionary loudmouths might secretly send their children to England or America. Ordinary people who can’t do that, can create an England right here.

[VED]

Hereafter, the matter of training this person (my first daughter) completely from a thoroughly feudal language atmosphere present in the local region to a fully English atmosphere is what will be written about in the next few writings.

Before this, let me say a few things. This topic has been substantially described by this writer in the book Shrouded Satanism in Feudal Languages, published in 2013. That book is a very large one, with nearly 2 lakh words and 83 chapters. Many matters are mentioned in it. Therefore, this topic constitutes only a small percentage of that book.

When discussing this topic in a book written in English, there is no significant problem of concern. Because those reading that book are people who know English. Even without using the beastly word codes of feudal languages, those readers can discuss this topic and the person.

However, the matter in this writing in Malayalam is not like that. This issue is being presented in a feudal language atmosphere. Naturally, the desire to speak degradingly about the person will arise in some, especially those mentally low. Moreover, some readers continue reading with a competitive spirit.

This problem exists in this subcontinent. Even those who set out claiming to do some social good, and the movements they lead, step into such activities only after ensuring their own divinity and the subservience of the locals.

They enter among the people only by attaching terms like Ji, Saab, Swami, Chettan, Ikka, Bhai, Amma, Chechi, etc., behind their names.

The fact that the English do not know this problem is the essence of their quality. But it is also the essence of their foolishness.

One of the most valuable parts of training my first daughter from a very young age was keeping her apart from expressions like Inhi -lowest you, OLu -lowest she, Edi, ALe, enthadi penne, enthadi and many such usages.

However, this has indeed caused significant resentment and protest in many, especially in women of diminished personality who stay confined (particularly those claiming family ties). Because the opportunity to use such expressions is, for them, the chance to lift their personality from baseness. If they get a person beneath them, they rise above.

Thus, they understand it as their right. Not allowing this feels to them like an encroachment on their rights.

Similarly, in men who are mentally or personality-wise low, the eagerness to use such expressions was very clearly observed. Especially in those who tried to establish family ties through some means.

Moreover, for many accustomed to calling their own children "lowest you," "Edi," "enthadi, pennu - lowest level she," etc., not being able to use such words on another child felt like a crime against their own children, as observed.

Some experiences related to this will be mentioned later.

[VED]

When things are like this, what needs to be explained is why this topic is being presented in Malayalam. Let me mention a strange thing related to discussing matters in English. Generally, those who speak English well have fewer word codes to speak degradingly about others.

NOTE: This book is a translation of an original writing in Malayalam.

In Malayalam, even when saying something good, it can be done in a way that belittles or degrades the other person. To achieve something like this in English, one would have to explicitly blame the other person.

Here is the strange thing:

Even if something good is said in English, if those who do not know English hear the conversation nearby, it evokes opposition and hostility in them. Many of them feel that the others are speaking in English to belittle them. However, one cannot speak in Malayalam with the same ease and simplicity as in English. Because words like You, Your, Yours, He, His, Him, She, Her, Hers split into three levels in Malayalam. At that moment, the atmosphere changes. Those being discussed and those speaking become two or three different classes.

In reality, those who speak Malayalam are relatively more menacing for this reason. Yet, it is understood as if those who speak English are the menacing ones.

This problem has troubled me many times. Even when speaking something good, others feel they are being belittled. This attitude exists in most parts of this subcontinent, and that is the truth.

I have written more than 30 books in English under the pen name VED from VICTORIA INSTITUTIONS. In all of them, this linguistic argument serves as a common foundation. Still, no one in Indian languages seems aware that such ideas exist or that there is a writer addressing these matters.

In 2011, I filed a Writ Petition in the Kerala High Court against the mandatory imposition of the Malayalam language in education and argued the case personally in that court. The High Court accepted the petition and issued a notice to the Kerala Government.

Normally, such matters would come up for discussion in the press. However, not a single media outlet took up this topic for discussion. Not even a hint appeared in most media. Only one reporter from a newspaper prepared a feature related to this, but the newspaper did not publish it.

Upon inquiry through a person with influence in that newspaper, it was learned that the cultural leaders of this state had privately requested the media not to take up this topic for discussion in any press outlet. That was the information received.

[VED]

Until about 10–12 years ago, I did not know how to write Malayalam well. However, since most old Malayalam film songs were known, a vast number of words had been stored in my mind.

As part of the decision to learn to write Malayalam well, I made direct contact with international translation companies and undertook translation work from English to Malayalam and Malayalam to English. This was about 6 years ago (circa 2012). In the early days, it was a very difficult task. However, today, I can write Malayalam with the same ease as writing English.

Today, I do not take up international translation work. The reason is the lack of time.

However, it is now possible for me to write my personal ideas in Malayalam. This had been a problem for so long. Indians who read these ideas in English acknowledge their reality but are not eager to inform other Indians. The reason is that these matters are facts that unsettle everyone. Those who know remain silent.

Moreover, feudal language speakers have little interest in making society or their surroundings beautiful. On the contrary, no matter how polluted the surroundings become, a place where their own status of respect is assured feels beautiful to them.

Those who speak feudal languages are, in reality, very selfish. Beyond their own interests, they genuinely have no concern for anyone else. For many, the misfortune and failure of others bring joy. This has been pointed out more clearly before.

However, in pristine English, things are not like this. Wherever the English have been, they have brought about social transformation.

The question of why English knowledge is being given to feudal language speakers is being raised again. A clear answer to this can be provided through this small illustration.

In the next writing.

[VED]

In a reasonably high-standard lodge, two or three people stay in one room.

One of them, after waking up in the morning, immediately makes their own bed, keeping the bed and surroundings neat and clean. However, the other two leave their beds, bedding, and surroundings in a messy state and head to their workplaces.

In the evening, all three have their respective friends visiting.

The first person feels uneasy about the overall messy state of the room. However, the others have no such issue.

So, the first person hints to the others about tidying their beds. They nod, but do nothing.

After the other two leave for their workplaces, the first person makes and tidies the beds of the other two as well.

In the evening, when the other two return with their friends, they understand the mental refinement of someone coming to their place and providing neatness and order.

Subsequently, the first person asks the other two to continue this efficiency on their own. They comply. Gradually, the room becomes neat and clean.

Though small, this illustration above can be likened to the motivation behind promoting pristine English in this land.

Anyone well-versed in English can quickly realise that if people think, act, and speak in an English atmosphere, the chaos, noise, pushing, and shoving prevalent in many places in this land would vanish.

The shouting bus staff when getting off or boarding a private bus, the passengers pushing their way in without yielding courtesy or priority during boarding, and such are direct reflections of feudal language codes.

Upon entering government offices, the desire among office staff to unsettle those who speak with some dignity would fade. Similarly, the tendency of the public to stand stunned would lessen.

Police would also lack words like Nee - lowest you, Inhi - lowest you, Avan - lowest he, Oan - lowest he, Aval - lowest she, Olu - lowest she, Eda, Edi, enthadi, enthadi to use.

It is when individuals interact without clear regard for hierarchy—or without it—that feudal languages lose harmony. To overcome this, one way is an authoritative class capable of intimidation. Alternatively, using computers and internet facilities to conduct many things without direct interaction between people could reduce the problem. However, neither is a permanent solution.

Many English officials in this subcontinent often found it hard to understand. Individuals changing their nature abruptly, becoming aggressive and shouting at each other without apparent reason, was a daily sight.

If a third person comes and refers to one of two people as "Avan - lowest he" and the other as "Avaru - highest level he/she," it’s enough to provoke unease, betrayal, and backstabbing in the first two.

The selfish intent behind promoting English—a language without codes to divide individuals and relationships, to flip them from top to bottom and vice versa—is this: without any great leader, divine figure, swami, revolutionary, priest, or constant preaching, peace and efficiency can spread in society. To seek such a society, one need not look to last century’s England. Rather, it can be made possible right here.

[VED]

I am beginning to write about a highly personal anthropological experimental observation, intended for readers who are not directly or formally educated in connection with such study methods. Therefore, it becomes necessary to clarify some broad circumstances.

This writing is read today by a relatively small number of people from various parts of the world. Among these readers are individuals of different kinds—socially, personally, and professionally—ranging from those at great heights to those at great lows. Addressing both those at mental or other heights and those in lower regions in the same way, while speaking simultaneously, often fosters various kinds of discomfort in feudal languages.

For example, there are certain issues in discussing a social concept by bringing together employers and workers. Anticipating such a problem and speaking with carefully chosen words, curves, and turns, while imposing various limitations, is an essential requirement in feudal languages. It seems that being able to speak openly without such preliminary games of hide-and-seek is possible only in societies like those with pristine English.

In his very famous book Mein Kampf, Adolf Hitler states this matter very clearly.

QUOTE from Mein Kampf: Among a hundred so-called speakers there are hardly ten capable of speaking with equal effect today before a public consisting of street sweepers, locksmiths, sewer-cleaners, etc., and tomorrow holding a lecture with necessarily the same thought content in an auditorium full of university professors and students. END

This single indication alone is enough to suggest that there are feudal codes in the German language.



This writing is mostly designed by somewhat ignoring the different perspectives woven by socially feudal languages.

Before writing about this highly personal experimental observation that I am going to discuss here, it is necessary to document some circumstances related to me.

I am a person who has greatly limited personal relationships. I don’t usually acknowledge anyone as a close friend in the ordinary course of things. However, I interact daily and directly with many people from various parts of the world. Some of them are people I know personally. Others are those who established contact after reading my writings.

Through my father’s side and my mother’s side, there are numerous relatives in this state and various parts of the country. A few are in foreign countries, including the USA.

But generally speaking, I don’t typically express any kind of connection with relatives. Though I have no enmity with anyone, there is no closeness either.

Those I studied with are also in big jobs or without any such things. My connection with them, too, lies severed.

If I ignore those who are relatively lower socially or mentally, it might be seen as arrogance, and if I ignore those at social heights, it might be considered insolence. Both have happened.

If I connect with those tied by family relationships, complexities like elder brother, younger brother, elder sister, younger sister, uncle, aunt, and so on arise in communication.

Trying to avoid such complexities is not because I know English, but rather because I need some conceptual freedom. Experience tells me that personal relationships often put a leash on conceptual freedom.

[VED]

Conceptually, I have stood isolated in many directions. Beyond that, there has been a distance from those around me—linguistically—in the things I think about and the books I read.

Occasionally, I have accidentally met people somewhere with whom there could be alignment in conceptual matters, reading habits, or the nature of information. However, these brief encounters have never afforded the opportunity to move toward a friendship.

Those I personally wish to grow close to have always been extremely rare in my life’s circumstances. Yet, often, because associating with me can bring various benefits—mentally, intellectually, in terms of English language proficiency, and in personal growth—there have been experiences in some locations where a few people have regarded me as a sort of wondrous object and stayed close.

However, it is also true that many such people don’t remain for long. The reason is that once the personal changes this connection brings to them become very apparent, their own close associates painstakingly inform them of negative details about me. With that, they sever the connection. Often, they realize much later that the loss is theirs. Some have even informed me of this realization after a long time.

Measuring negative details is very easy. It’s something even the most trivial person can do. But measuring deep, beneficial information requires significant mental and personal depth. A person who hears negative details and one who hears beneficial information are two entirely different individuals. For example, a person comes along. That person hears good information. In the design view of the transcendental software codes operating behind reality, that person is relatively positioned in one direction.

If the same person hears negative details instead of good, in the design view of those transcendental software codes, that person is relatively positioned in a different direction.

These two individuals, positioned in these two different directions, are, relatively speaking, two distinct persons as far as the other is concerned.

In short, a person who hears good and one who hears bad are two different individuals, as far as the original person is concerned. If someone who came close after hearing good later hears bad, that person transforms entirely into a stranger with a different personality.

In feudal languages, it’s the same whether a respected person becomes one who is not respected. The person becomes different. If the relationship continues thereafter, it happens with an entirely different individual.

[VED]

The reason for including such personal matters in this writing is that I am preparing to document an experiment that feels very different. Moreover, the readers are of various kinds. Some of them may view things with a competitive mindset. However, I am not writing these matters out of any provocation of competitiveness.

The sole purpose is to describe a particular phenomenon that lies beyond the physical knowledge available today.

Since another person will be mentioned in this, it is necessary to provide a bit more background about this individual.

One aspect of this, which may be noticed throughout this writing, relates to my financial weakness. As mentioned earlier, there is a conceptual error in this definition.

While living in various parts of this country, I have, at times, faced financial difficulties. However, one person pointed out—about 27 years ago in a northern Indian town—that people around me often noticed a mental state in me that they couldn’t understand.

In feudal languages, it is only natural for someone without money to have a lowly attitude. If that’s absent, the alternative is often perceived as impertinence.

Yet, even without money, I speak and behave with those whom feudal languages define as socially superior—despite my lack of money—in a high-minded manner in English, without any trace of that lowly attitude. I address those whom others regard as very eminent by adding "Mr." or "Mrs." to their names. How this is possible is something that other financially strained speakers of feudal languages cannot comprehend.

Here’s how it connects: the conversation is in English. The thinking is in English too. There, the lowly attitude imposed by feudal languages has no foothold.

The second point is this: in English, addressing people with whom I have only a formal connection, or those I don’t know well, by adding "Mr." or "Mrs." before their names actually indicates a lack of closeness. It doesn’t suggest familiarity or equality, as might be assumed from Malayalam or other feudal languages.

The third matter is that I have very rarely been an employee in any trade or industry. The one or two brief instances when I was an employee, on a small scale, were also in an English-speaking environment. For this reason too, I have rarely experienced a lowly attitude in far-off lands.

However, there has been a period in my life, lasting about one and a half years, that was completely the opposite of this. During that time, it was because certain so-called "kin"—a group of disparate individuals—stabbed me in the back without any hesitation. What provoked them, as hinted at in an earlier piece of writing, were developments comparable to Kaikeyi’s maid in the Ramayana, who manipulated Kaikeyi into making moves against Rama.

It seems this was part of their varied attempts to subdue me, each in his or her own way.

[VED]

However, a person may have various heights or lows that cannot be easily seen or noticed.

An illustration related to this can be provided here.

Around the 1980s. I am standing at Varkala railway station, near Trivandrum. There, I happen to meet a classmate I used to see at college. Though we had no prior acquaintance, since we were both studying at the same college and met in another place, we stood together and talked. Both of us were of the same age. We studied at the same college. Though we differed in personality, there was no difference whatsoever in being citizens of this country in any other way.

That’s when the train arrived. One or two of this person’s relatives appeared. They boarded the train compartment. After that, I started to board as well. That’s when they stopped me. It was a first-class compartment. They were the son or relative of a senior railway official. They hinted that first-class travel was free for them. They might have had a permit for it in hand.

This illustration is given to depict that there can be many differences between individuals that aren’t immediately apparent. A minister’s relative or friend, an IAS officer’s sibling, a police inspector’s son, a police constable’s father, a police IG’s peon’s nephew, a village officer and his wife—countless threads may fall upon a single person. If these are indicated appropriately in a suitable social setting, in feudal languages, it’s like pulling a fish caught on a hook upward—a great tug skyward. It’s a sprint upward (in Malabari: a paanju kayattam) through the layered rungs of linguistic codes.

A person without a penny in hand reveals, at an appropriate venue, that he is the sibling of a police DIG. That’s enough to unveil a vast estate of influence.

This kind of social mindset creates an opportunity for another social peculiarity. People with significant connections will not sever those threads at any cost. No matter how much a senior official quarrels with their son, sibling, or others, these folks won’t let the bond break. The reason is that if they cut this thread and step into the outside world, others will drag them toward the opposite end of the linguistic codes.

Terms like adheham (he, highest level) and saar (highest you, he / him) (in Malabari: Ingal and oru) suddenly turn into avan (he, lowest level), ningal (middle level you), and nee (you, lowest level) (in Malabari: oan and inji). Letting go of this bond facilitates such a shift.

From a personality perspective, this is an inner transformation (a mutation) akin to a divinity turning into a dirt. The core of the person’s being gets scrambled. This twisted state smoulders in the billions of living cells in their body. A deviation occurs in the transcendental software codes that design those cells.

This also sets the stage for another tug-of-war. When big connections and small connections pull back and forth, people, in their panic, lean toward the bigger connections.

[VED]

My father ended his stay in this world and departed about 25 years ago. While indicating a particular characteristic of linguistic codes, some matters related to this person’s life might be mentioned later. He was an Indian Systems of Medicine doctor in the Malabar District Medical Board. However, he resigned from this position just before I was born.

My mother retired as the head of a government department in the state of Kerala.

Among my siblings, one is a professor in the electronics department at an engineering college owned by the central government, defined as elite.

The second is a paediatrician (a doctor specializing in child healthcare).

The third retired a few months ago from the position of editor at a foreign newspaper.

In the local social atmosphere, this brief information mentioned above is perceived among middle-class crowds as a vast accumulation of wealth and assets. For many, to be honest, even being able to indicate such close connections might feel like a dream come true.

However, in life, I have often been a Master of Understatement (a person skilled at indicating less than what is).

In many instances while living in far-off lands, I clearly realized that each of these relational indicator sentences acts as a link that connects a person to the upper echelons of society and pulls them upward. This is because the local language is harshly feudal in flavour, unlike English.

These kinds of links are extremely helpful in rising above and floating high, away from the various expressions in the local satanic language—such as nee (inji - lowest you), avan (oan - lowest he), aval (olu - lowest she), eda (aane), edi (ale), avattakal (aittingal) - lowest them, —and the social traps they set, which people view with dread.

But if I walked around without mentioning any of these indications, to be honest, it would allow me to find the gaps to truly experience the inner workings of the diabolical languages of this subcontinent. To understand that there exists here a mindset that perceives others as social adversaries, behaves charmingly to ensnare them, sets traps and pitfalls to topple them, and waits patiently, one must experience such a life without any social armour.

I don’t think this understanding would come from studying some college textbook on social sciences stuffed with foolish technical terms or earning a doctorate in that field.

[VED]

Speaking of armour, it’s worth reiterating that I didn’t leap into the social underbelly without any armour or weapons. I always had in my possession the supremely transcendent linguistic software of pristine English classical literature. To fully realise the power of this software, one must find an opportunity to stand without other social armours.

In this kind of perilous, circus-like flying trapeze life experience, a particular perspective was gained. It’s simply this: whilst living in various parts of the country and engaging in different trades, financial setbacks often occur. In those moments, I’ve closely observed people who fight their way up from the social underbelly. They are at their heights. Meanwhile, I am in a state of being stuck in a pit.

If they stumble and fall, they plummet to great social depths. When I fall, with all paths closed, I land on the pedestal formed by the connections mentioned earlier. It’s also true that this fact has often caused profound discomfort to many. The reason is that behaving with apparent equality towards those at the bottom doesn’t always evoke affection in them. Instead, it often brings out competitiveness, a thirst for revenge, and a desire to cling tightly to their position.

At the same time, if you shock or demean those at the bottom, it elicits respect from them. That’s how the behavioural codes of feudal languages work.

Let me describe another peculiar situation. Feudal language is everywhere. When mentioning relationships, it’s not just the plain English he, him, his, she, her, hers that people perceive. Instead, it’s a brutal classification of a person’s relationships into terms like adheham (highest he) or avan (lowest he), avar (highest she) or aval (lowest she), angane (that way) or nee (lowest you), saarammar (sirs) or avanmar (those guys). These are the languages prevalent in this land.

The reality is that for about 90 per cent of the people in this country, their relatives, from the perspective of the Indian bureaucratic class, are merely nee (lowest you), avan (lowest he), aval (lowest she), avattakal (those folks), and so on. The remaining roughly 150 million people stand at heights ranging up to towering heavenly spires.

Those at the bottom tear each other apart to survive. They pledge allegiance to revolutionary leaders who turn them into fools. These revolutionary leaders, in turn, make the people accomplices in perpetuating these beastly languages. They call on them to love these diabolical tongues.

To understand the divine essence of the English East India Company’s decision to teach English to everyone in this subcontinent, one must free their mind from the grip of revolutionary theories that lack any awareness of the feudal linguistic and social realities.

[VED]

When viewing matters from the two opposing poles constructed by social communication codes, many unique perspectives—ones that don’t even provide a reason to think in English—come to mind and take root.

For instance, on one side, there’s the grand posturing of officials and the public’s eagerness to achieve their ends by displaying any degree of subservience. Things like that.

I have a wealth of knowledge about all this in my mind.

However, something distinct from all this also enters my thoughts: the interest that those mentally and socially subjugated have in their own subjugation.

I can offer an illustration from an everyday incident.

When there was a 3-tonne National Permit pickup lorry in the family, I had experience driving that vehicle.

Once, I was travelling in this vehicle to a region in northern India. There was a formally appointed driver to operate the vehicle. Moreover, another person was present in the vehicle as the driver’s assistant.

Generally, I observed that police officers and other lower-ranking officials behaved quite rudely towards the driver and his assistant at various places. However, neither the lorry driver nor his assistant seemed to perceive anything wrong or disrespectful in this treatment.

It’s akin to how, in local schools, if teachers address students with nee (lowest you), eda, or edi, the students wouldn’t find any issue with it.

At the Belgaum Sales Tax checkpoint on the Karnataka-Maharashtra border, the sales tax department’s peon and clerks addressed the driver and his assistant with terms like nee (lowest you) and eda. Commands were issued in the manner of “Move the vehicle over here, eda,” or “Move it over there, eda.”

At one point, a government peon took the bills and other documents from the driver, stuffed them in his pocket, and walked straight to a tea shop, where he sat amongst a crowd drinking tea. The driver went there, pleaded with him in some way, bowed, and acted as though he were touching the man’s feet, eventually retrieving the papers.

Yet neither the driver nor his assistant saw any problem in this. On the contrary, they exhibited the attitude of having accomplished something grand.

It’s the same mindset as a college student who secures a signature and seal on their lab record from a college professor.

However, since I possess a mental disposition to view matters from the extremes of social poles, I recognised that such behaviours were a violation of constitutional frameworks and the social communication codes that the English administration here sought to establish.

Yet neither the driver nor his assistant seemed interested in changing this flawed situation.

Here’s why:

Suppose the officials and police officers spoke high-quality English. Likewise, suppose lorry drivers were appointed from those who had studied high-quality English. The communication between these two groups would be of a very high standard, free from mutual degradation or displays of subservience.

But if that were the case, everyone would develop an interest in becoming a lorry driver. Today, such jobs seem reserved, as it were, for those capable of enduring such degradation. Others wouldn’t compete for these kinds of roles.

[VED]

Another matter has come to mind—about the peculiarities of feudal languages. This, too, is a valuable piece of knowledge gained from my divergent life path.

When living in various regions teeming with feudal languages, without displaying any social foundation or pedestal, it feels as though one is trapped in a void. Many social and personal traits and flaws can be experienced in their full intensity.

Though I haven’t fully encountered such an experience in its complete force, I’ve often received hints of it. It’s a phenomenon that emerges when social stature and vulnerability are filtered through word codes.

From this insight, one might grasp the vulnerability and total helplessness of those living in this country without any armour, along with their dire circumstances. This is because local language codes are exceedingly malicious and harm those who are weak.

From this void-like state, I gained an understanding of a particular ability of feudal languages: their capacity to spin individuals in circles, like a whirlpool in water, dragging them down to the social underbelly.

One person introduces another. The second person mentions this individual to someone lower than them: “Do you know him (avan)? He’s this sort of chap.”

The third person repeats this conversation to someone even lower. Thus, each link in this circular chain turns the first person into an avan (lowest he), dragging them further and further down.

It’s an experience of being caught in a whirlpool—rolling and grinding a person down to the bottom rungs of social standing.

At the same time, the first person introduces someone else. That person says to someone of higher status: “Do you know her (avar) / sir (saar) / him (adheham)? He’s a big figure.”

This conversation is relayed by each person to someone of higher standing. The words spin the first person upward like a top, through the word codes, towards the top. It’s an experience akin to water surging upwards from springs.

This is a capability that level-natured languages like English cannot achieve. No matter how high or low you place someone, they remain merely he, him, his, she, her, hers, and so forth.

[VED]

For those from this subcontinent who go to England, America, Australia, or New Zealand and live there, it’s possible, if they wish, to raise their children without teaching them their ancestral feudal languages. Whether they do so or not, the mental freedom that these children, born and raised in English-speaking nations, gain is of a kind that even a high-ranking official in their ancestral country couldn’t begin to imagine.

However, among this group, if their ancestral feudal language remains in their mind, it could potentially position their personality in an entirely different direction.

Be that as it may, the physical and mental personality of these children is likely to develop at a very high level. At times, the transformation in their personality might be so pronounced that one could wonder whether they truly belong to the same population groups of this subcontinent.

At the same time, it’s worth noting that today, in no English-speaking nation is pristine English—mental and socially atmospheric in its fundamental form—available. This is a fact. Over the past roughly 30 years, everything has become muddled and mixed.

I won’t delve into that topic now.

Even before my first daughter, Varuna, was born, I had spread a halo of an English atmosphere into my surroundings. The individual born into this environment displayed a noticeable radiance and distinction in physical personality quite clearly.

This kind of radiance can manifest in personality in many other ways as well. A large family, being the offspring of a highly respected individual, someone rising from a lowly position to a prestigious job, or regularly participating in physical training—these can all bring various forms of radiance to one’s personality.

However, what was observed here was a radiance unsupported by any such grandeur.

Not all matters related to this can be indicated here at present. The reason is that to explain them, one would need to discuss the transcendent software codes of human life and reality, which hasn’t been done in this writing thus far.

The most essential task to create and sustain an English mental atmosphere was to ensure that the negative radiations of feudal language codes did not affect this individual, her mother, or our surroundings.

One fact to briefly mention here is that language codes genuinely exert influence over the software codes of the physical environment.

For a small illustration, consider this: an ordinary person enters an Indian government office imbued with stern authority. No matter how determined they are to stand tall, they’ll feel a harsh suppression in the atmosphere.

Though many might say this is merely a feeling conjured in the mind, lacking any physical basis, even this sensation is produced by certain distinct, transcendent software codes of reality.

It’s not just a feeling in the mind; the tangled language codes create powerful distortions in the atmosphere itself. This affects those trapped in the humility of language codes. Those positioned at the heights may not perceive it.

For example, the sibling of an IPS officer entering a police station might not feel this suppression. But the servant who accompanies them might.

[VED]

The endeavour to transplant a linguistic culture absent from the surroundings into this region through my own daughter was a task I had to undertake entirely on my own. I wasn’t aware of any other individual among those who could be called my own kin possessing the mental commitment, ability, or lack of hesitation required for this.

From the time Varuna was about three months old, I would carry her around as much as possible. I would explain things to her in complete English, ensuring she understood.

I didn’t employ any of the clownish or foolish behaviours that those in higher positions typically display in feudal languages when interacting with young children, subordinates, or others beneath them.

I introduced her to the plants, flowers, trees, and birds in the garden with a maturity exceeding that used when addressing an adult in Malayalam. Yet, in truth, this is simply the ordinary way one can behave in English.

In Malayalam and other feudal languages, people address others with varying tones and theatrics—nee (lowest you), ningal (you), thaankal (highest you)—but such a method doesn’t exist in English.

The aim here wasn’t merely my own daughter. Rather, it was a goal that could be defined as more selfish than that.

The objective I had in mind was to determine whether there was any basis to certain claims I had made in my ancient text, March of the Evil Empires: English versus the Feudal Languages.

I noticed that every matter explained to her (Varuna) without any hint of clownishness registered in her mind with remarkable speed. Moreover, I didn’t permit family members to come and fuss over her, ask questions, pinch her cheeks, or the like. Though this displeased some, there was no doubt it helped maintain an English mindset in Varuna.

Back then, I would take Varuna on the two-wheeler I owned, even at a very young age. I can’t recall precisely when this began. However, at that time, we used to travel daily as a family, covering distances of roughly 50 to 200 kilometres. This was an experience that greatly facilitated filling the mind with a wealth of visual and other information. By the time she was about one and a half years old, there were numerous instances of securing her with a belt and seating her in front of me on the bike for long journeys.

I also didn’t allow anyone to inflict upon her the blows of words like paava (doll), kunjan (little one), edi, ale, inji (lowest you), nee (lowest you), aval (lowest she), or olu (lowest she). This, too, was a serious matter indeed. There’s no doubt that some might have remarked that something was amiss with me, perhaps a slight madness or the like.

But to state the truth, it’s a fact that Varuna began speaking around the time she was nearly six months old. Furthermore, before she turned one, my mother once pointed to a crescent moon in the sky at dusk and said, “That is the moon.” Varuna replied, “No, that is the crescent moon.”

The verbal dexterity to correct my mother’s English came from the fact that every matter was etched into her mind with great clarity from a very young age.

What I experienced during this opportunity to impart matters directly and effectively in her childhood, without any twists or turns, was this: just as one can input data into a new computer with an empty mind with seamless ease, so too can information be fed into a fresh brain with the same smoothness.

However, it’s also true that one could, if desired, fill this new brain with matters through convoluted, foolish talk and misguided teachings.

I don’t know how readers will interpret the matters mentioned above. But what I wish to say is that none of this is stated in a boastful manner. The reason is that these matters aren’t recounted with any aura of heroic adventure. Rather, they are merely part of an ethnographic experiment.

[VED]

In many ways, I raised my first daughter in a manner either directly opposite to or distinct from the local culture.

Her hair was kept short. Her ears were not pierced.

Her clothing consisted of trousers and a T-shirt.

No jewellery or adornments such as bangles, earrings, nose rings, finger rings, necklaces, flowers in the hair, ribbons, hairbands, forehead dots or sandalwood paste, eyeliner, nail polish on fingers, or anklets were used. The reason was my defiant belief as a father that a person enveloped by the mesmerising halo of English, which bestows a radiance surpassing all these, had no need for such decorations.

It’s true that some of these adornments and embellishments are also used by English-speaking people.

However, the stance I took wasn’t about questioning customs. Rather, it was that if an individual feels the need for them, they may use them, but there was no necessity to teach or impose these in advance.

Applying oil to the hair or powder to the face was also deemed unnecessary. The reason was my personal, perhaps whimsical, conviction that the finest radiance is one that’s unartificial. The firm belief that the ultimate remedy for everything lay in pristine English language codes and keeping feudal languages at bay existed in me as a vibrant emotion.

This stemmed from my steadfast conviction that it was the mere magical software of English that sustained England—a small region within a tiny island beyond the bounds of mainland Europe—as the benchmark of quality for nearly everything in the world until about 1947.

However, in my daughter's case, I was aware that this radiant halo was exceedingly fragile and could easily be snuffed out by the surrounding feudal language codes. This realisation often compelled me to adopt a stance of siege-like defensiveness.

[VED]

Another thing that comes to mind now is that in her diet, tea, coffee, and spicy food were not introduced or trained into her habits.

When my first daughter was about eight months old, I gave her the opportunity to swim in a stream flowing from the Wayanadan valley regions, located right next to our house near Deverkovil. This later became a daily routine, and she grew into a fairly decent ability to swim. Although I provided her with the chance to swim in the sea from a young age as well, there was an experience where some people around us reacted unnecessarily. They saw letting such a young person into the sea as nothing short of reckless behaviour.

(I have swum in the sea many times myself. Once, I even found myself in danger.)

The stance I took was simply this: if I were to emulate the traditional traits of any group of people, let it be the social traditions of England. The people of England have historically had a deep connection with the sea and water. I don’t know how it is today.

By the time my first daughter had been walking for a few months, I trained her to walk on top of a wall without anyone holding her. For this, I stood by her side with great care, ensuring every safety measure and precaution was in place. Not a single moment of this training occurred without proper supervision or preparation.

From a very young age, without the imprint of any formal training, I also gave Varuna practice in running long distances. I trained her to roll forwards and backwards (breakfall) in a way that felt entirely spontaneous and unplanned. At that time, she wasn’t even three years old.

(I recall that this training proved genuinely useful on one or two occasions later on.)

It feels fair to say that none of the plans mentioned above involved money, extravagance, wastefulness, or wealth in any way.

However, not understanding the local language of the people around us during that time provided a kind of privacy to all these plans, as if there were a great wall around us. This was because, if I had understood their language and conversations, the low-quality, piercing words and codes—used by many—would surely have halted all these efforts right at the outset.

[VED]

What must be done to enhance children’s intelligence is a matter of contemplation for many parents. I’ve heard that Brahmi or Brahmi ghee is beneficial. However, the reality is that there was no time to pursue such medicinal practices. That period was one where I was travelling vast distances daily.

Somehow, I had come to believe that providing opportunities to input various kinds of information or data into the brain was a good approach. For this very reason, during my travels—often covering a radius of about a hundred kilometres on a two-wheeler—I would frequently take my first daughter and her mother along with me.

There’s a noteworthy detail here. During that time, for business purposes, I travelled across Kerala from one end to the other every month on a two-wheeler. Being on two wheels made the journeys convenient in many ways. I reckon I’ll share some insights related to this experience later.

But what I can say now is that this kind of travel made most places in Kerala and the routes leading to them very familiar to me. Except for Idukki and Kasaragod, that period was one where many inland areas across all other districts became well-known to me.

Places like Nalamchira, Kottarakkara, Thiruvalla, Thalayolaparambu, Vaikom, Karunagappally, Erattupetta, Ranni, Kalady, Muvattupuzha, Vazhakkulam, Thodupuzha, Kalamassery, Alwaye, Kuttippuram, Parappanangadi, Randathani, Kundootti, Nilambur, Wandoor, Mannarkkad, Ottapalam, Thamarassery, Mukkam, Adivaram, Nadavayal, Beenachi, Meenangadi, Kolagappara, Thalappuzha, Nedumpoyil, Niravilpuzha, Tharuvana, Peringathur, Kallachi, Muzhappilangad, Sreekandapuram, Mamam—and countless other inland regions—I would travel through every month. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t stop the vehicle in any of these places.

One of the experiences these journeys gave me was that the sense of mystery that used to arise in my mind when hearing the names of various places in Kerala faded away. The reason being that the linguistic culture everywhere followed the same feudal language codes. Apart from some minor differences, the distinction between ‘big person’ and ‘small person’ was the defining feature of these verbal codes. On the contrary, I never once experienced anything akin to the shift one feels when stepping into an English setting.

Before my first daughter turned three years old, during a conversation with someone, I mentioned that she had travelled nearly 5,000 kilometres by bike. It seemed difficult for that person to believe. I felt a slight pang of awkwardness myself, as it struck me that it might have sounded like boasting.

For this reason, when I got home, I calculated it based on the daily trips around the area, ranging from 50 to 200 kilometres. The total distance that emerged wasn’t 5,000 km—it was well over 30,000 km.

The reason for writing in a way that might seem boastful is to convey a specific idea. This writing is indeed moving towards that very purpose.

[VED]

Knowledge of the English language has been an asset in every way. At the same time, it’s necessary to keep feudal language codes at bay. This has been the aim from the very beginning.

If the first goal is achieved while adopting an indifferent stance towards the second, the result would be a grave failure in the objective. The reason being that the exceedingly gentle mindset fostered by English cannot withstand the blows of the malicious word codes embedded in feudal languages.

When that happens, a person naturally becomes rougher. That’s the inevitable outcome.

Such individuals are likely to develop a new kind of dual personality. However, it’s worth noting here that those who speak feudal languages already possess a self-induced multiplicity of personalities. That’s a different matter altogether. I believe I’ve mentioned this in some detail before.

Even before my first daughter was born, and from the time of her birth, I would play CDs of English nursery rhymes for her. Even before she began speaking, I could tell from the movements of her fingers that she was listening to and enjoying these songs thoroughly. By the time she was about six months old, it seemed she was quite familiar with around 150 nursery rhymes.

Mentally, I connected her mind to English through various such methods.

As a father, whenever I got the chance, I would earnestly engage in conversations with her, discussing numerous things on a daily basis.

However, daily long-distance travel and the mentally taxing task of navigating Indian government offices meant that these conversations often happened intermittently.

Many people in India are aware of things like English nursery rhymes. But the reality is that, generally speaking, many who know about these things don’t openly acknowledge it. There are several reasons for this.

Take, for example, a housewife and a maid. When the housewife arranges such opportunities for her own children, there’s a societal awareness—shared by her and other family members—that ensures the maid’s children don’t get the same access. The reasoning is that if the maid’s status rises, the affection and respect she offers will diminish. On the other hand, giving the maid small gifts—like bits of cloth—creates an overwhelming sense of obligation and loyalty in her.

The maid will speak well of the housewife in various circles: “Chechi (or Amma) is such a good woman. She bought me two saris this month. And on top of that, she gave me that bottle of spray. They’re good people.”

At the same time, if English is introduced, the maid would rise above her servile mindset. Only the utterly foolish English would display such naivety. Through the opportunities they provided, most of those who mastered English went on to compete fiercely with them—socially, personally, professionally, and ideologically—reaching a level of equality. They’ve said every negative definition and lie imaginable about the English, spurred on by their own social leaders.

Meanwhile, the stance of those who speak feudal languages is much the same. It’s not a problem if they don’t learn English themselves. But allowing anyone who’s been trodden underfoot for generations to rise is, in a feudal language environment, akin to handing someone a stick to beat you with. What lies on the ground should stay on the ground—there’s no need to lift it up onto your shoulders.

[VED]

Since I took my first daughter with me to various places, it could be said that her worldly awareness grew remarkably quickly. While seeing crowds, streams of vehicles, roads, and government offices might have brought a change in her mental perspective, my personal opinion is that most of what she saw were unpleasant sights—eyesores, if you will.

Nowhere were there comfortable social environments, gentle atmospheres in government offices, or scenes and crowds that brought joy to the mind. This remains true even today.

In most tourism promotion images of Kerala and India, you’ll see valleys, rivers, fields, forests, herds of elephants, backwaters, star hotels, and the like. But they rarely include ordinary Keralites or Indians from the surrounding areas. The reason is that if local crowds and such were included in their natural, unadorned state, these tourism promotion images would lose their appeal.

Today, many images depicting India in foreign countries outshine those of England. However, these images are fabricated and deceptive. By contrast, the images associated with England feel natural.

That said, travel, when done in moderation, is certainly good for the mind.

At the same time, the monotony of social scenes was alleviated through another means. From a very young age, I gave my first daughter the opportunity to watch numerous English films. Star TV was the primary source of this, though I recall there were other channels too—whose names escape me now. She would watch English films daily. On some days, she watched more than one. Once, when she was just past three years old, I tried listing the names of the films she’d seen, and I stopped counting when it neared 400.

Is watching films to such an excess a good thing?

To answer this definitively, I’d need to explain several things. But in brief, watching high-quality English films while in India brings the mind significantly closer to an English social atmosphere. In an environment where this is encouraged, it’s undoubtedly a positive thing.

Moreover, from a very young age, it fosters a mental atmosphere where one naturally begins to think about grand matters. I recall discussing various themes from these films with my daughter when she was just two years old.

In an environment free from notions like “she’s just a child” or “she’s too little,” the mind can grow substantially—that’s what I’d like to say. At the same time, I’ve observed social environments where older individuals are kept diminished. In such places, I’ve noticed that people of that age can’t speak about things with mental maturity or confidence.

That’s not their fault or shortcoming. Rather, it’s all that such an environment allows.

Watching quality English films brings many benefits that improve the mind. The mental and physical personality that the English language imparts is truly magnificent.

However, there’s a bit more to say on this topic.

[VED]

Up until about 30 years ago, it seems that films coming out of Hollywood—the American film industry—were, in many ways, movies that identified with England’s culture.

Though some foolish histories might claim that the USA (America) was a nation formed by continental Europeans, the reality is that it’s a country forged by English settlers through numerous communities, built upon the strength of a minor war victory. Consequently, most of its citizens were, in fact, English.

Thus, the nation that emerged was indeed a grand English country.

However, today, continental Europeans, Africans, Asians, South Americans, and Middle Easterners are pouring into the USA like a tidal wave. Once they arrive, the many strings and reins that gripped their personalities in their native lands seem to vanish.

Curiously, among this mix, it feels as though only those who speak pristine Arabic—a pure, untainted form—naturally resonate with the English language. This is likely because pristine Arabic, as I understand it, carries less of a feudal tinge.

This shouldn’t be misunderstood as implying that Muslims are inherently like this. Most descendants of Islamic heritage, after all, come from regions where feudal languages are the national tongue.

Moreover, I’m not even sure if anyone still speaks pristine Arabic today.

The films coming out of Hollywood now rarely show loyalty, gratitude, or affinity towards England’s cultural heritage. Even so, since English is the language, they retain that unique quality. This applies even to films lacking in merit.

Some time ago, I began paying attention to the lyrics of newly released American English songs. The intent was to introduce them to those keen on learning English.

But what quickly struck me was how limited the vocabulary in these songs was.

Yet, the singers exude a magnificent personality. Reflecting on why, it became clear. Many of these singers and songwriters have no significant familial ties to England. However, living in America, the English language has profoundly shaped their personal growth.

This growth isn’t the blossoming of a genius. Rather, it’s that the English language has the power to elevate anyone. What’s more, today’s sophisticated technology bolsters this effect.

Yet, the inherent grandeur of England’s traditional legacy shines brightly even without any technological embellishment.

For any readers who can read English well, I’m attaching a digital copy of De Profundis, a very short book by Oscar Wilde, along with this writing. Download it and read it. You’ll see the fundamental beauty of English words.

Oscar Wilde isn’t a saint, a sage, a sir, a master, a brother, a lord, a swami, a priest, or a father—just Oscar Wilde. And yet, you’ll find proof that English words alone can create a rainbow.

Note: As I can’t physically attach a digital book here, I’d suggest readers seek out De Profundis by Oscar Wilde online—it’s widely available in digital formats. Let me know if you’d like further adjustments!

[VED]

When watching films in the English language, one can observe human personalities that are quite different from the local people of this land.

It has been about twenty years since I last watched films in local languages. Therefore, I don’t know what kind of human personalities or other aspects they represent today. However, based on what I saw back then, the characters portrayed in those films belonged to a particular type. There was usually a grand hero or heroine. Around this individual, there were several others who had clearly undergone a degradation of personality. Some were comedians and the like.

In reality, this is very much the kind of thing one sees in most crowd relationships in this land.

Those who write Hollywood films today are, for the most part, not traditionally English by heritage. Rather, they are people who have transitioned into English. Because of this, there may have been a slight flaw in these films in earlier times, which has perhaps increased today. This, too, is uncertain.

I believe I can confidently state that I have managed, quite effectively, to prevent this issue from exerting any significant influence on Varuna’s—my first daughter’s—mindset. From the very moment I began speaking to her, I would regularly tell her stories from English classical literature, especially during mealtimes.

Telling stories in this way might not seem particularly significant to another person nearby who lacks knowledge of such tales. They might assume that similar stories exist in Malayalam and other Indian feudal languages.

However, when recounting the small and large stories, as well as snippets, from the works of English classical writers like Oscar Wilde, Somerset Maugham, Charles Dickens, Sir Walter Scott, R. L. Stevenson, O. Henry, Mark Twain, Enid Blyton, and many others, what weaves itself into the mind is a profoundly magnificent framework of human personality. The human personalities and social atmospheres that shine through in these narratives are beyond the imagination or creative capacity of those in Indian feudal languages—whether they are shouting about socialism and communism in so-called revolutionary movements, or proclaiming patriotism, freedom struggles, and the like in other groups.

Among the stories I told her back then, I recall that the most heartwarming and heartrending was Oscar Wilde’s The Happy Prince. If one wishes, it could be defined merely as a folktale or fairy tale. Yet, hidden within many of its lines are deep layers of meaning that, when gently extracted and conveyed in soft English words, strike the listener deeply. In the mind of the hearer, they ignite and crash like waves.

I realise that I possess the ability to play with English words skilfully. It is indeed by using this talent that I would tell such stories.

One thing I noticed back then was the subtle yet profound turns and shifts in meaning that carefully chosen small words could create. These small words, like moving boulders, could hurl the heavy emotional upheavals of the inner self skyward—or, if desired, into unfathomable depths.

What the reader must particularly understand here is this: these stories did not reflect my own personality, failures, or successes. Rather, I endeavoured to reflect, through words, an unadulterated English social atmosphere. Though they were mere words, they struck with the force to stir tempests in human personality. The degradation of personality woven by local feudal languages, solidified over centuries, would crumble under the impact of this tidal wave.

[VED]

Another thing that shines brightly in the pristine antiquity of England is English fairytales. While these could be labelled as folktales or fairy tales in Malayalam if one wished, it seems to me that, in reality, English fairytales are neither folktales nor fairy tales.

It doesn’t appear that all English fairytales originated in England. Some of them may well have come into English from continental Europe. However, when such stories enter the English language, they blend into the gentle structure of its form. The words, the forms of address, and the personalities of both humans and animals are reimagined in traditional English. It feels as though they have entirely merged into a magical world.

The most exceptional and astonishing aspect of this magical world is the complete absence of divine personalities or subjugated personalities, which are certainly found in feudal languages.

While there are big and small characters, none of them reflect the triadic personality distinctions that feudal languages enable.

In other words, for a big person, there is no sense of being a "big person" beyond that—no indication or level within the words "He/Him/His" that suggests three tiers of status, with the highest being one that implies divinity.

Likewise, for a small person, there is no sense of being a "small person" beyond that—no indication or level within the words "He/Him/His" that suggests three tiers of status, with the lowest implying baseness.

Among such English fairytales, the ones that immediately come to mind are Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs and The Pied Piper of Hamelin. The latter, though originally set in a region of continental Europe, feels like it belongs to the realm of English fairytales when heard as such, with its characters bearing an English personality. However, the actions of the characters don’t truly reflect an English mindset. That pertains to the plot of the story itself.

[VED]

Another element of England’s heritage is folk tales. While this term could, if desired, be translated into Malayalam as "legend" or "myth," it seems to me that these are not quite like the Aithihyamala (a collection of legends) found in Malayalam. The difference may well lie in the linguistic codes themselves.

Among these, the most renowned are the stories connected to the life of a figure called Robin Hood. The phrase "Robin Hood" has been observed in this subcontinent, and later in India, being used as a sort of epithet or alias for various individuals. However, this has always felt rather distasteful to me.

The reason is that Robin Hood used the English language. There seems to be no scope or similarity in personality to compare a person who lives, thinks, and speaks in English with someone who lives, thinks, and speaks in feudal languages.

When these kinds of stories are told and heard in English, the imaginative scenes in the mind naturally take on an English form.

The profound and explosive code-reaction of respect—or the denial of respect—neither paralyzes this narrative style nor elevates it to hollow divine assemblies.

[VED]

Another gateway into the pristine English mindset was the old English comics. I had a significant connection with some of these through reading.

Generally speaking, characters like Casper, Spooky, Wendy the Good Little Witch, Archie, Donald Duck, and Mickey Mouse carried an American image. Nevertheless, they all bore a veneer of England’s regional culture.

Translating the stories from these comics to someone else and making them effective is a challenging task.

Above all these, the ones I was most keen to read were Phantom and Mandrake. Though these too were published in the US, their focal vision was rooted in pristine England.

The tales of the legendary figure Phantom were remarkably easy to narrate. When telling these stories, having the comics in hand allowed Varuna—my first daughter—to mentally piece together images of Phantom himself, the African wilderness, and the African forest-dwellers who accompanied him.

Phantom: a mysterious figure cloaked in perfect purple, moving at lightning speed on a white horse from the Denkali jungles, alongside his dog—which was not a dog but a wolf. A hooded enigma, no one knew what he truly was. Yet he was known as the Ghost Who Walks, the mortal who could not die. His stories were wild in nature, but the realms he traversed were wilder still.

Through these comic tales, a variety of strange narratives would challenge the imagination. Pirate gangs entrenched in the depths of the ocean, sea robbers, oil thieves, women cast in golden forms, Shakespearean dramas, the drumbeats rising from the jungle’s depths—resounding across the land and carrying messages at the speed of the wind over green meadows and through dark forests—the Pygmy Bandar with their poison arrows, the Good Mark bestowed by Phantom with astonishing dedication across generations, the Bad Mark that lingered no matter how one tried to erase it, the hushed conversations about the grand exploits of Phantom—the Ghost Who Walks—echoing through all the ancient ports of the Seven Seas, the jungle Olympics held in perilous forests where even the boldest might falter in competition with timeless dangers, and Guran, the ancient man who lived bearing all the historical tales of that wild jungle in his mind.

Thus, the intertwined tales of Phantom, when narrated with the natural fluency of the English vocabulary I possess, provided evidence that English words too could create cosmic rhythms in the mind.

Below is a quote from an article I wrote around 2004 on a British website:

The Phantom. The mysterious person who comes riding out of the Denkali jungles in perfect purples, on his white horse, accompanied by his dog-which-is-not-a-dog-but-a-wolf, used to charge my imagination with the most enchanting of themes. No one knew what he was made of, but he was the Ghost-who-walks, and the man who couldn’t die. And many of his themes simply were wild, and wilder still were the areas he roamed. He was Mr. Walker when he roamed not only the cities, but also when he came to his strange abode in the American deserts, that stood towering as a pillar—the Walker’s Table.

The ancient one—who came mixed with the themes of Undersea Gangsters, Hijackers, Oil thieves, Women of Gold, Shakespearean dramas, the Tom-Tom beating in the deep jungles that moved messages over the grasslands and through the dark woods, the Pygmy Bandar and their poison arrows, the Good Sign that lent security through the generations with spectacular commitment, the Bad Sign that lingered on, the whispers that rang through the ancient ports in the Seven Seas about the exploits of the Phantom—the Ghost Who Walks, the Jungle Olympics where the games were not just a competition between the competitors but also with perils that could make even a brave man pause, Guran the ancient man, who knew all the tales of the past—well the list is long—still fascinates me.

[VED]

It seems to me that a mindset exists today in English-speaking lands, asserting that a person has the right to live freely, think as they please, act, and speak, provided it does not harm others. This appears to be an educated perspective—laden with flaws, foolishness, and ignorance—that prevails there.

The reality is that, when viewed through the lens of the English language, many divisive matters found in other languages don’t seem wrong in any way.

Take speech, for example. In feudal languages, when one person speaks about another or addresses someone, various restrictions are necessary—embedded in the word codes themselves.

For instance, when a person of higher status refers to someone of lower status, they must speak in a derogatory manner. Speaking with respect in such a context would feel distasteful to others.

In the case of my first daughter, I didn’t create an environment where she could think anything, study anything, listen to anything, speak to anyone, or discuss anything freely. Quite deliberately, I considered these matters and set clear directions, limits, and freedoms.

Such limitation is indeed a rein on others’ freedom. Because others recognize they have certain rights to use various words in Malabari and Malayalam when speaking.

Even before Varuna turned two, I had her participate in games like Trumps (known as "twenty-eight" in Malayalam card games) and Rummy. When mentioning this, I must add the following as well.

I have played card games in both Malayalam and English environments. In Malayalam, the experience of this game—especially in settings marked by crude conversational habits—often feels like sneaking off with a few people to a hidden spot in the undergrowth, pouring arrack (local liquor) into small glasses, tinting it with colour, holding one’s nose, and gulping it down in one go. The subsequent conversations, claims, pronunciations, and more resemble playing cards in Malayalam at certain venues. Often, it involves fistfights, abusive language, sharp glares, and the like among the players.

Moreover, when people of vastly different ages, occupational standings, social statuses, and so forth join such games, it creates an environment where some experience frustration and coarseness, while others gain competence and joy. This is how the game plays out in Malayalam and other feudal languages.

Because the language is feudal, one can also play cards at a higher level.

Experience has also made it clear that when money is wagered, this game turns into an addiction.

Let me offer another analogy. For some, wearing a kaili (a traditional lungi) isn’t a bad thing. However, wearing a kaili unwittingly embroils one in the explosive process of granting or denying respect in Malayalam. What’s more, if one person wears a kaili in a setting where everyone else is in trousers, a distinct difference is felt.

A similar difference arises in feudal languages when participating in games like twenty-eight or Rummy.

Yet, joining card games in refined English without gambling offers a markedly different experience. Good conversations and proper pronunciations lend strength to this pastime.

To truly understand this, one must play various card games—Trumps, Rummy, Lucky Seven, Donkey, Bluff, and so on—in a fully English environment. Even the Malayalam pronunciations of Spade, Diamond, Clubs, and Hearts differ.

(Today, one might see crude terms from regional languages being used in English. But generally speaking, those of refined standards in English don’t import such vulgar expressions from regional tongues.)

Don’t gamble—it’s a peril. I could share more details related to gambling in card games; if they come to mind, I’ll mention them later.

I recall that by the time Varuna was about two years old, she had gained decent proficiency in Trumps and Rummy.

Among those who sat with Varuna and joined in these games, those with limited English skills saw their English language knowledge grow. Yet what added distinction to this pastime was ensuring they remained tenfold more rooted in their Malayalam abilities. Had I allowed words like nee (lowest "you"), ninre ("your"), aval (lowest "she"), edi (a derogatory address), and Malabari terms like inji (lowest "you"), inre ("your"), olu (lowest "she"), or ale (another informal address) to run wild with their inherent freedom, the one who would have borne the greatest loss of refinement would have been Varuna herself.

[VED]

Another thing I trained my daughter from a very young age was chess. I don’t hold the opinion that playing chess leads to extraordinary intellectual growth. For an adult, engaging in such activities is akin to studying for the various competitive exams of today. For example, studying for a medical entrance exam. What ability does that grant? The ability to face the medical entrance exam with ease. It doesn’t provide the skill to swim, drive a vehicle, deliver a speech, create artwork, excel in digital designing, trade vegetables, or perform surgery.

Yet, the medical entrance exam stands as a gateway to studying in a medical college. That’s how things are today. Only by crossing that hurdle does one gain the opportunity to pursue medical education.

However, I introduced her to such training at a very young age—between two and three years old—because I had a hunch that exposing the brain to these activities early on could bring about significant changes in its "brain software."

The reason being, I believed there’s a kind of "brain software" operating behind brain functions. If, at the very start of its development, you provide it with diverse, creative, and positive experiences, the brain could form new circuitry within its operational framework. This circuitry would enable it to handle such insights efficiently. That was a realization I had.

However, such activities alone aren’t sufficient to create a genius. Skill and genius are two different things. The truth is, I had no aim of creating a genius through these efforts.

The beliefs behind this mindset were along these lines: genius isn’t a talent that can be cultivated. There’s something else at work behind such a brilliant mental state.

I’ve never thought that matters tied to the English language could create geniuses. However, it might be true that an English social environment offers greater freedom and opportunities for geniuses to thrive. No matter how exceptional a genius or how remarkable a skill, if such a person falls under the sway of the feudal language speakers of this subcontinent, they’re done for. The language codes will crush them.



For example, Ramanujan was from the Madras Presidency in British India. He’s said to have been a phenomenal genius in mathematics. It was a professor from England (G. H. Hardy) who discovered Ramanujan and later brought him to London.

If a hundred Ramanujans were brought from Madras to England, it wouldn’t lead to England’s progress. Rather, it would result in social decline. Because what they’d speak and create would be a feudal language society.

In the images provided above, the first is the real photograph of Ramanujan. The second, on the right, shows the transformation of his appearance when portrayed in a Hollywood film.

It’s similar to how Gandhi was depicted in an English film. In the movie Gandhi, he appears with the personality of an Englishman.


Image: The real Gandhi as a young man.

Back then, the Gandhi film was made using a British citizen. Today, I feel that might not be necessary.

Likewise, the image on the left is the real Ramanujan. The character in the Ramanujan film seems quite different to me.


Image: Gandhi in the film.

[VED]

By the time my first daughter was about five years old, she had gained proficiency in several indoor board games like Carroms, Dominoes, Monopoly, Cluedo, UNO, and Scotland Yard.

From around 2006 onwards, when I started an English learning class in a building next to our house, I involved many people in these indoor board games to help them become familiar with speaking English.

Back then, both my first and my second daughters actively participated in these training programmes. Their presence helped create an environment completely free of Malayalam and maintain a high-quality English-speaking atmosphere. For some who came to improve their English conversational skills, these programmes proved very beneficial.

From a very young age, I introduced my first daughter to numbers, as well as addition and subtraction. The truth is, there were no elaborate plans or calculated moves behind any of this.

During idle moments, I’d sometimes introduce her to numbers like, “This is one, two, three, four, five,” using my fingers. At other times, I’d use objects—adding them together or taking them away—to explain addition and subtraction.

On other occasions, I’d simplify multiplication and help her understand it.

I recall that explaining these things didn’t involve much difficulty. The reason being, I didn’t rely on overly structured learning plans. Moreover, the truth is that, since my father had little fondness for teachers from way back, I didn’t even consider formal teaching methods.

The fact that she could speak English from a very young age made it easy to impart this knowledge through casual conversation that made it seem trivial. Often, these conversations would happen by a riverbank or somewhere similar.

By the time she was about four years old, I introduced her to the concept of squares of numbers in a way she could imagine them.

It’s worth mentioning that this, too, wasn’t presented as some grand study or anything of the sort.

The reality is, I didn’t see any need for great intellectual prowess in any of this. Rather, I believed that explaining things simply would suffice for understanding. Because at that stage, her mind was remarkably clear.

Alongside this, even before she turned one, I taught her the English alphabet and how words are formed using it—again, without presenting it as a formal learning programme.

Often, I’d weave these lessons into activities she enjoyed doing. That was all there was to it.

[VED]

One possible aim might have been to determine how much beneficial knowledge and skill could be instilled in a person without subjecting them to the foolishness of formal education. When discussing such matters, various questions might arise.

One question many might have is: if raised this way, how would one make friends? Without directly answering that, let me pose another question: formal education, as we know it, has only been around for a relatively short time. Before that, did no one here have friends?

In those days, everyone stayed at home, so friendships naturally formed with the children in the neighbourhood.

Today, however, children aren’t at home during school days. Thus, the chances of such friendships are slim. Then there’s the issue that my daughter doesn’t know Malayalam. Moreover, when our family lived for some time in a major city in northern India, I not only refrained from encouraging her to learn or speak Hindi but actively discouraged it.

Looking at it this way, she wouldn’t have friends in her childhood. Such an assessment might have occurred to many from a narrow perspective: if she wasn’t familiar with them or their children, then she surely wouldn’t be familiar with anyone else.

Yet, while in northern India, she had a large group of friends around our residence. When we moved to a rural area, some judged it a problem that there were few people familiar with English in the vicinity at that time. However, the reality was broader than that. Since her spoken language was English, she formed friendships that transcended the age barriers often imposed by feudal languages.

English—this magical medium of communication with its supernatural ability to imbue people with personality—is today excluded from government jobs and interactions with the state. Instead, languages that excel at categorizing humans and even animals, defining some as lowly, filthy, and worse, have entrenched themselves in the administrative system. Deliberately keeping people from learning English is a deceitful scam, perpetrated by revolutionary loudmouths to instil loyalty and obligation toward these suicidal ideas.

I mention this here because those who grow up ignoring such thuggish languages may be deemed ineligible for quality government jobs in India. There’s much more to say on this, but I won’t delve into it at this moment.

As the land progresses—or rather regresses—it’s heading back to the state it was in before English governance took root in this subcontinent. A fierce revolutionary leader who made grand efforts to drive English out of the land has, in the meantime, sent his own son off to America.

[VED]

When speaking about the friendships of my own children, I must mention this too: parents with financial means, prepared to bear significant expenses, enrol their children in distant schools. Their sole aim is this: to ensure their children gain access to quality friendships. This often reflects a profound sense of sacrifice.

However, parents who are financially disadvantaged cannot arrange such a selective circle of friends for their children. For their kids, the most likely option is government schools. No matter how capable, dutiful, or efficient the teachers in these schools might be, the system mandated by government policy fosters a degraded environment.

It’s either an overly disciplined and restrained atmosphere or its complete opposite—a chaotic, noisy mess. Masculinity and femininity often manifest in a brutish manner. Some even see this as a grand opportunity for personality development, believing it cultivates a mindset well-suited to surviving on the streets.

“Who are you, mate?” someone might ask, only to be met with, “Who are you, mate?”—a mental readiness for confrontation.

But this isn’t anything new. Across this subcontinent, until English governance took hold in various regions, most people possessed such skills. However, they could only express them within the confines of their own status. Moreover, the history of such cultures is filled with daily uproar and commotion.

For instance, today, private bus workers can behave this way among themselves and with the public. But when a minor official arrives—say, a police constable—that bravado vanishes. I’ve seen bold individuals, clad in a mundu, loosen it and tuck it between their legs, displaying abject servility. In this country today, a vast majority must indeed offer such subservience.

I’ve written this not to insult anyone but to highlight the meaninglessness of this kind of education.

This type of education doesn’t aim for social transformation. Instead, it seeks to exploit existing social hierarchies by aligning with them. Truth be told, it doesn’t even require a grand educational programme.

Yet, it conveniently produces followers, petty leaders, and big leaders for political parties and revolutionary loudmouth groups. What’s more, government jobs are reserved for them. Thus, the education system that has taken root here bears no connection to the aims of the English East India Company, which introduced education to this land.

It seems the grand benefits of this education reach only about 2 percent of the population. For the rest, it’s like gambling at a temple festival ground—money gone, pockets empty, with nothing left but the noise and firecrackers they enjoyed during the festivity.

[VED]

The language around us daily encourages competition between people—overthrowing those above to climb over them, preventing those below from rising, startling those who don’t show respect with one’s behaviour, acting as though giving slight leniency to the lowly invites their dominance in return, and constantly facing such mindsets from others.

Work, as seen in English, isn’t the same here. In feudal languages, it often implies a social rank, the authority to demand respect, or the obligation to grant it. This is intertwined with factors like age, family prestige, the status of siblings, and more.

In such an environment, the noble intent of outshining everyone else in educating children persists as a perverse cunning.

For someone raised solely in a language free of such chaotic goals, the only outcome of the education system here is the disintegration of their own personality.

Having been thoroughly exposed to high-quality English, its classical literature, and more through reading and listening from a young age, my first daughter had already gained much that the government-prescribed education system here couldn’t even dream of providing.

Don’t lean while standing; sit up straight; address people you’re formally introduced to with "Mr.," "Mrs.," or "Miss" before their name. When standing at any counter, don’t overtake the person ahead—queue properly. Likewise, when boarding a bus, don’t push past the person in front. When making any request, use "Please," "Can you please?," "Could you please?," or "May I?" as appropriate.

If you pick up an object, return it to its proper place. Don’t rest your feet on the seat you’re sitting on. To ask someone to move aside or to get their attention, use "Excuse me" rather than pushing them out of the way.

Every citizen here has dignity, so there’s no need to stand subserviently before another person—submission is owed only to God. Speaking gently will still get things done. After waking up in the morning, engage in at least half a kilometre of running exercise.

These are part of the education she received here up to about the age of nine—an education unimaginable even in the wildest dreams of India’s formal schooling system today.

Sorting people into categories and addressing the lowly with terms like nee (lowest "you"), eda (hey, male), edi (hey, female), enthada (what’s that, male), enthadi (what’s that, female), avattakal (those people), or in Malabari, inji (lowest "you"), enthane (what’s that), enthale (what’s that, female), aittingal (those things), wasn’t part of this learning. The reason being, such arbitrary, crude words simply don’t exist in English.

[VED]

It seems that today’s education policy views education and the teaching of vocational or technical knowledge as either one and the same or as entirely separate entities.

However, the earlier idea of spreading English cultural values for social transformation is completely absent from today’s education system. What exists instead is merely the imposition of behaviours rooted in feudal language norms.

My first daughter was about four years old when she first became familiar with using a computer. Back then, around the year 2000, computers were seen as something only those with extraordinary abilities and intelligence could use. But I had known much earlier that computers possess remarkable capabilities and that learning to use them doesn’t require exceptional intellect or formal educational qualifications.

For this reason, by the age of four, she had gained significant proficiency in using a computer. Since I had acquired a typing tutorial software at that time, one of the first things she learned on the computer was how to type.

She quickly mastered typing skills, largely because she was so young. I never gave her any instructions to fill her head with the foolishness of formal education.

Following her proficiency in typing, her overall computer usage became impressively swift. Soon after, she learned to use MS Word, Adobe Photoshop, Adobe PageMaker, Macromedia Dreamweaver (now Adobe Dreamweaver), Adobe Flash, and Adobe Acrobat. I didn’t see any need for exceptional intellectual brilliance for any of this.

I recall she had mastered all of this before she even turned five. She occasionally assisted me in converting some of my books into digital formats, helping with typing and editing images.

What’s more, by around the age of seven, she designed web pages for VICTORIA INSTITUTIONS—www.victoriainstitutions.com. Additionally, an eCommerce project, for which I had paid a substantial amount back then, needed to be reintegrated into the website after it was relaunched. She successfully integrated it into one of the web pages. Previously, a software company in Kozhikode had handled this task, but when the website was redesigned and the integration needed to be done again, she accomplished it. I believe this was around the year 2005.

[VED]

It was in English-speaking nations where the surge of technological advancements and scientific knowledge took place. The clear reason for this is the absence of the various inhibitions, jealousies, and anxieties found in feudal languages when it comes to sharing knowledge and communicating—socially or professionally—among people.

For this very reason, the computer—a device with extraordinary capabilities yet remarkably simple to operate—was invented in those places.

Alongside this came the emergence of an entirely new entity called software, something highly advanced yet lacking physical existence. Many of the languages (software languages) and coding systems within it, though endowed with immense potential, are not particularly difficult to learn.

Because of this, software companies in the USA, in what seemed like a novel idea, set out to train workers from third-world countries around the globe in these skills. The motive was clear: they could get this work done by people in these third-world nations for less than one-sixth of the wages paid in the USA.

In truth, employers in the USA dealt a harsh blow to their own citizens. Sharing their nation’s technical knowledge and secrets with foreigners could, in a country like China, result in severe punishment.

As part of these actions, countries like India were given the freedom to use software and operating systems in their early days without even obtaining licenses. This, in reality, facilitated the theft of the collective wealth of people in nations like the USA. If calculated, many countries might owe billions in compensation for such practices.

The democracy in English-speaking nations, the influx of outsiders, the granting of citizenship without any philosophical grounding, and similar factors have led to a loss of clear focus in national policies. The very awareness to protect the rights of the nation and its citizens has eroded.

Dazzled by the interests of various lobbies that have entered from outside and their cunning propaganda schemes, English-speaking nations have stumbled into all sorts of foolishness. Often, even national policies in these places are shaped by individuals with shallow intellect who arrived from abroad just a few years prior.

Now, let’s move to the relevance of mentioning these matters here.

[VED]

Most teachers in formal education know little beyond their textbooks. Yet, they can think and act in close alignment with many things happening in society—such as exams for government jobs, politics, public activism, street-corner speeches, and Malayalam TV programmes—where they often display considerable skill.

However, back then—around the year 2000—most teachers had little knowledge of matters outside these realms. It goes without saying that many had almost no connection with English. The same applied to computers and other IT-related topics.

For those who did know about them, computers were seen as something only people with exceptional intellectual prowess could handle.

Yet, people are diverse. It’s worth remembering that different individuals possess knowledge in different areas.

At the same time, I had realized that the ability to use a computer would become as essential as literacy. However, one can live without it—just as there are people in this world living without literacy.

I mention this to highlight the gap that existed back then between teaching and computer knowledge.

During an occasion around 2004, when I was conducting a training session for teachers at an English-medium school to improve their English language skills, I asked what Photoshop was. None of the teachers—male or female—had even heard of Photoshop. One of them opined that it must be the name of a photo studio.

My first daughter, who had no formal education, had been using Adobe Photoshop for about five years by then. Meanwhile, most of those empowered by formal education didn’t even have the faintest awareness of the word "Photoshop."

[VED]

The first time I used a computer was in 1985, at the home of a relative with foreign connections. Compared to today’s computers, it was an extremely primitive machine in terms of technology. There was no mouse. Everything was operated via the keyboard, using BASIC code commands to make the computer function.

To teach me how to use this computer, someone with authority over it—residing in the same house—was casually asked by that relative to help, without much insistence. Accordingly, this person explained a few things and gave me some books to read.

This learning didn’t progress further. Later, I realized that such teaching often evolves into a scheme to lead one astray, for various reasons.

No one can really be blamed for this mindset. The reason being, this mental state is inherently embedded in the feudal languages of this land.

Wealth—meaning money, knowledge, technical expertise, high connections, comfortable and quality housing, prestigious jobs, and the like—elevates a person to the status of "addeham" (a respectful "he"). Conversely, someone lacking these is reduced to "avan" (a lowly "he") by others.

Thus, sharing such personal wealth with someone who lacks it is seen by others as a leakage of one’s own resources, only to be accumulated elsewhere.

If this continues, the "addeham" becomes an "avan." Sometimes, two "avan"s might emerge. Alternatively, the first person might become an "avan," while the second rises to "addeham." This issue exists in every region where feudal languages prevail.

Curiously, though, I don’t recall ever encountering even a hint in English discussions that such a phenomenon exists within human thought processes, emotions, or mental insecurity.

[VED]

I truly began using a computer in 1999. By then, technology related to computers had advanced significantly.

The internet had spread widely. eCommerce was steadily gaining ground.

It was during a period of personal setbacks—a pit of failures in life—that I gained practical experience in the computer field. This came through a training programme tied to an IT sector initiative, linked to the USA, involving work performed from India. At the time, my only thought in joining this training was to overcome the predicament of having nothing else to do. However, it marked the beginning of a profound connection with computers and the internet.

The training mentioned above was supposed to take place in an English mental atmosphere. While speaking English would prompt others to respond in English, there was no real English mental atmosphere there. This was still in Kerala.

As a result, things often proceeded with the flavour of a feudal language. There was a palpable attitude among the trainers that computer usage—something that could be learned very easily—shouldn’t be mastered too quickly. They weren’t ill-intentioned people; they were quite gentle-natured. But this reluctance stemmed from the control exerted by language codes.

It’s well-known to computer users that there’s a small protrusion on the "F" and "J" keys of a keyboard. Feeling these with your fingers helps you position them correctly on the keyboard. This very detail was shared with me in a hushed, almost secretive manner by one of the trainers.

Moreover, the trainers seemed genuinely reluctant to teach shortcut keys for formatting text as bold, italics, and so on. The reason? That’s all there was to it. Many external aspects of computer use are things that can be memorized with a single glance—unlike carpentry or motor mechanics.

Around 2002, while standing in a computer training centre owned by an acquaintance, I observed how Adobe PageMaker was being taught. It was done in a very convoluted way. When I privately asked the trainer why he was teaching it in such a manner, his response was along these lines:

“Sir, these lads don’t understand a thing. If they learn this, they’ll become the master too. Then their next move will be to undermine me.” (Note: Normally, no one is inclined to address me as "Sir.")

What this trainer said was true. He didn’t say it out of any negative mindset. It’s just how language codes operate in this land—playing with people, making them dance to their tune.

[VED]

👉

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