Vaikuntha Ekadashi

 தாய் கண்ட துயரமெல்லாம் தீர்க்க வந்த திருமாலே

தளர்ந்த நெஞ்சம் தாங்கிடவே தாழ்ந்து நின்ற திருமாலே

தரிசனம் தந்த நாளெல்லாம் தண்ணீராய் உருகும் நெஞ்சம்

தவித்த உயிர்க்குத் தாரகமாய் தழைத்த நாமம்—மாலே

தீய கண்ணீர் தீர்த்திடவே தீபமாய் நின்ற திருமாலே

திசையெங்கும் தெய்வமென்று தெரிவதெல்லாம் உன் கோலமே

துன்பச் சுமை துளையாக்கி துயர் கழுவும் திருப்பாதம்

துயில் கெடும் இரவெல்லாம் துய்ய நாமம்—மாலே

தாய்போல் அரவணைக்கும் தன்மை கொண்ட திருமாலே

தர்மம் காக்கத் தாழ்வென்றும் துணிந்த இதயம்—மாலே

தடுமாறும் காலடிக்கு தாங்கு கம்பம் உன் கருணை

தரணியெல்லாம் தழுவுகின்ற தரிசன ரூபம்—மாலே

துளசியின் வாசம் போலத் தொடரும் உன் நினைவே

தீராத பசியென்றும் தீர்த்திடும் உன் நாமமே

தொலைந்த பாதை திரும்பிடவே தொட்டு நிற்கும் திருவருள்

தவம் வேண்டா—தாழ்வான நெஞ்சம் போதும், மாலே

India's Maritime Renaissance: A Journey Back to the Seas

There's something profoundly moving about watching the INSV Kaundinya set sail toward Muscat on her maiden voyage. This isn't just a ship—it's a declaration of intent, a bridge between India's glorious maritime past and its promising nautical future.

The vessel takes its name from Kaundinya I, the legendary first-century Indian mariner whose voyages to Southeast Asia weren't just adventures but the beginnings of cultural exchanges that would shape civilizations. His story, like so many from India's maritime golden age, reminds us of what once was: a nation of seafarers whose influence stretched from the Arabian coast to the distant shores of Africa, from the Bay of Bengal to the far reaches of Southeast Asia. For two millennia, Indian sailors and traders were masters of these waters, with the mighty Chola empire extending its reach across vast oceanic expanses.

What makes the Kaundinya's voyage particularly exciting is what it represents. Built as a faithful replica of fifth-century vessels depicted in the Ajanta Caves murals—constructed without nails, using ancient techniques—this ship is more than nostalgia. It's a reminder that India's maritime excellence isn't a distant myth but a tangible heritage waiting to be reclaimed.

And the timing couldn't be more opportune. Today, as global supply chains reveal their vulnerabilities and nations reassess their strategic capabilities, India stands at a crossroads of tremendous possibility. The shipbuilding sector—dominated by powerhouses like Japan, South Korea, and China—is precisely the kind of labor-intensive industry where India's demographic dividend could shine brilliantly.

The opportunity is clear: combine India's abundant workforce with cutting-edge technology and skill development, and we have the foundation for a maritime resurgence. Imagine Indian shipyards buzzing with activity over the next decade, producing world-class commercial vessels that carry goods across global trade routes. It's not a fantasy—it's an achievable goal with the right investments and partnerships.

What's particularly encouraging is that India doesn't need to go it alone. Collaboration with established shipbuilding nations like Japan and South Korea could accelerate knowledge transfer and technological advancement, creating a win-win scenario that strengthens both India's capabilities and regional maritime cooperation.

The INSV Kaundinya's journey—first to Muscat, then onward to Bali and beyond—serves as a powerful metaphor. Just as this ancient-style vessel navigates modern seas, India can blend its rich maritime heritage with contemporary innovation to carve out a significant role in global shipping.

The path forward requires commitment from both government and private sectors, strategic investments in infrastructure and skills, and a national vision that recognizes shipbuilding as the strategic priority it truly is. But if there's one thing the Kaundinya's voyage teaches us, it's that the spirit of Indian seafaring never truly disappeared—it was simply waiting for the right moment to return.

As we watch this remarkable vessel sail toward the horizon, we're not just looking back at history. We're glimpsing a future where India once again commands respect on the world's oceans—not through conquest, but through capability, commerce, and connection.

The winds appear to be favourable. It is perhaps time to set sail.

What Ho! The Christmas That Wasn't

Statutory warning: I maintain an irrational loyalty to premium audio equipment and an unfortunate habit of noticing what everyone else successfully ignores.

The thermometer read minus four Celsius. "Feels like minus thirteen," chirped Alexa, with the sort of sadistic glee one associates with dentists announcing root canal procedures. Undaunted, I set forth on my morning constitutional. Christmas morning, no less. One doesn't let a little thing like potential frostbite interfere with one's daily perambulation. That way lies softness, and softness leads to elasticated waistbands.

The kit: four layers of clothing, two winter caps (one concealing what nature chose to make aerodynamic), Gore-Tex boots, thermal underthings, and my faithful Bose over-ear headphones. Twenty-five years I've stuck with Bose. Longer than most celebrities stay married. In Singapore's swelter, I use the in-ear sort—unless one fancies braising one's brain in its own juices. But here in Wisconsin's arctic wastes, the over-ear models are the ticket. They muffle wind, seal out cold, and prevent one's ears from snapping off like frozen biscuits.

Thus armoured and caffeinated, I ventured into the frozen wastes.

The previous evening's reconnaissance had revealed something distinctly rum. The neighborhood blazed with Christmas lights—enough wattage to stage Diwali and the Blackpool Illuminations simultaneously. Snowmen stood guard. Light-up reindeer grazed. Santas waved mechanically from rooftops. The whole nine yards of festive fol-de-rol.

Only one tiny detail missing: people.

Not a soul. Not one. I peered through windows (gentlemanly peering, naturally—none of your vulgar gawping) and found rooms as empty as a politician's promise. It was like stumbling onto a film set after the crew had packed up and scarpered, only someone had forgotten to turn off the lights and the electricity bill.

Where were the blighters? Had they all been beamed up? Won a collective trip to Barbados? Spontaneously combusted?

The more prosaic explanation, I fear, involved the standard modern pattern: Young folk flee for Cities with proper coffee shops and reliable WiFi. Leave elderly parents rattling around in houses roughly the size of Westminster Abbey. Check in via FaceTime twice yearly. Consider duty done.

Houses, not homes. Homes have voices, laughter, burned Yorkshire pudding, arguments over the remote. These structures had all the warmth of a banker's handshake.

This morning's walk made the previous evening's effort look positively carnivalesque.

Lights: off. Streets: deserted. Churches: locked, littered with dead leaves, looking rather how I imagine the morning after the office Christmas party. Not a creature stirring, not even the proverbial mouse. The only movement came from those ominous grey clouds overhead, which had the decency to merely threaten rather than assault.

One pictures the scene inside those fortresses of solitude: Amazon boxes on the doorstep. DoorDash DashMesh long departed, his delivery app pinging cheerfully. Inside, Grandma or Grandpa—or both, if lucky—unwrapping gifts with arthritic fingers. Audience: the television (CNN burbling), the dog (snoring), the cat (judging).

The neighborhood pub where they once held court? Wheelchair won't budge, old sport. The Christmas ball where they cut a rug in '63? Hips replaced, knees shot, dancing days done. The family gathering with siblings and their rowdy offspring? Busy Timothy has a "conflict"—lacrosse tournament in Connecticut, terribly sorry.

What's left? The pre-paid plot at Eternal Rest Gardens. Location secured (nice and quiet). Coffin selected (mahogany, very dignified). Tombstone design approved (tasteful font, none of your Comic Sans nonsense). Wreath size determined. All sorted, all paid for. Just waiting for the final curtain. Then – rest in peace, and celebrate Christmas in the netherworld. 

But wait!  Aren’t these oldies already resting in peace in those homes, nay, houses? 

Merry Christmas to all. Especially to those celebrating it alone, with only the cat for company and CNN for conversation.

Debt Is Not Destiny: Why India’s Long-Term Growth Will Be Decided in Its States

Debt has become the default instrument of economic policy across much of the world. In the decade following the global financial crisis—and again after the pandemic—governments increasingly relied on borrowing to sustain growth, stabilise incomes and finance public investment. The result has been a sharp rise in public debt almost everywhere.

The more relevant question today is not whether debt is high, but whether it is productive. Over long horizons, economies succeed when borrowing expands productive capacity faster than the cost of servicing that borrowing. Where this condition fails, debt eventually constrains growth rather than enabling it.

Imagine a household buying its first home with a mortgage. The loan is manageable, payments fit comfortably within income, and as earnings rise over time, the debt feels lighter. This is leverage working as intended.

Encouraged by rising prices, the household buys a second home, again mostly on debt. Rental income covers part of the cost, and salary growth fills the rest. Leverage still works because income broadly keeps pace with obligations.

Now imagine a third and fourth property. Income growth slows, but borrowing continues. Maintenance costs rise, interest rates fluctuate, and cash flows tighten. On paper, the household looks wealthier. In reality, the margin for error has disappeared. Any shock—a job loss, a rate hike—forces difficult choices.

This is the point at which debt stops being fuel and starts becoming ballast.

The parallel with public finances is clear. Governments can carry rising debt so long as income grows faster than obligations. Trouble begins when borrowing continues even as income growth slows, or when debt funds consumption rather than assets that raise future earning power.

Some economies resemble the prudent first homeowner. Others look closer to the over-leveraged investor, relying on growth to arrive on schedule. History suggests it rarely does.

A useful way to frame this trade-off is to compare the growth of government debt with the growth of per-capita income. If incomes rise faster, debt becomes more manageable over time. If debt outpaces income, leverage accumulates—even if headline GDP growth appears healthy.

Viewed through this lens, global outcomes diverge markedly.

A Global Divide

A small group of economies—most notably Vietnam and Taiwan—have managed to align debt growth closely with per-capita income growth over the past decade. Their success rests on export-led growth models, strong manufacturing or technology ecosystems, and relatively disciplined fiscal frameworks. Singapore, often cited for its high gross debt, remains a special case: its liabilities are matched by financial assets, making conventional debt metrics misleading.

At the other end of the spectrum lie economies such as China, Brazil and South Africa, where debt has expanded substantially faster than per-capita income. In China’s case, the issue is not simply the level of debt but its concentration in local governments and property-linked financing vehicles, which has reduced the productivity of incremental borrowing.

Between these two groups sit several large emerging economies—including India—where income growth remains strong but debt has begun to rise more rapidly. This is not yet a point of stress. But it is a signal worth taking seriously.

India’s Aggregate Strength—and Its Hidden Risk

At the national level, India’s macroeconomic position remains comparatively favourable. The country benefits from a long demographic runway, a large domestic savings pool, and public debt that is overwhelmingly denominated in local currency. Its digital public infrastructure has also improved fiscal capacity and targeting efficiency.

Yet India’s government debt has grown faster than per-capita income over the past decade, reflecting infrastructure investment, expanded welfare spending and pandemic-related support. So far, growth has been sufficient to absorb this increase.

The more important vulnerability, however, lies below the surface.

India is fiscally decentralised to an extent few large economies are. Its states account for a substantial share of public spending and borrowing—and they differ enormously in economic structure, revenue capacity and policy quality.

Thirty Economies, One Sovereign

A small number of Indian states—such as Karnataka, Haryana, Gujarat, Tamil Nadu and Telangana—have come close to maintaining a balance between debt growth and per-capita income growth. These states benefit from stronger urbanisation, export exposure, and higher productivity sectors.

Most states do not.

Across much of India, state-level debt has grown significantly faster than per-capita income. This reflects borrowing directed towards consumption subsidies, transfers and recurrent expenditures rather than productivity-enhancing investment. Over time, such patterns weaken fiscal resilience.

Unlike the central government, states operate under hard constraints. They cannot issue currency. They cannot adjust exchange rates. And their capacity to refinance debt depends increasingly on central transfers and market confidence. Persistent divergence between debt growth and income growth at the state level therefore poses a structural risk to India’s medium-term growth trajectory.

The Long-Term Implications

Debt dynamics evolve slowly. Problems rarely emerge in the early stages, when growth is strong and financing conditions are benign. The difficulty arises later, when demographic tailwinds fade and growth normalises, leaving less room to absorb accumulated obligations.

International experience is clear: economies that sustain high growth over decades use debt to raise productivity, not to defer adjustment. Where borrowing substitutes for reform, growth eventually slows.

India today sits between these two paths.

What Needs to Change

If India is to sustain high growth over the next three to four decades, the focus of reform must shift decisively towards state-level fiscal quality.

First, borrowing frameworks should be more explicitly linked to economic outcomes. States that demonstrate durable improvements in income growth, export capacity and urban employment should have greater fiscal space than those that do not.

Second, India’s fiscal rules need updating. Headline deficit targets matter less than the relationship between debt servicing costs, revenue growth and per-capita income. A revised framework should reflect this reality.

Third, off-balance-sheet liabilities—particularly in power, transport and urban infrastructure—should be fully consolidated. Hidden debt undermines accountability and delays adjustment.

Fourth, incentives must be aligned. States that manage debt prudently and grow incomes faster should be rewarded through lower borrowing costs or greater autonomy.

Finally, India must accelerate urban productivity. Cities remain the country’s most underutilised growth engine. Property taxation, user charges and municipal finance reform are essential to reducing pressure on state balance sheets.

A Narrowing Window

India’s public debt is not yet a binding constraint. But the margin for error is shrinking. Over time, the difference between debt that enables growth and debt that merely sustains spending becomes decisive.

International comparisons offer a clear lesson. Economies such as Vietnam and Taiwan show how disciplined borrowing can support long-term prosperity. Others illustrate the costs of postponing adjustment.

India still has the opportunity to choose the former path. Whether it does so will depend less on national ambition than on how its states choose to borrow, invest and reform.

India's pollution mess

 India’s urban air pollution crisis is no longer a policy failure. It is an institutional disgrace.

What Indian cities are experiencing year after year is not an unavoidable by-product of growth, nor an unfortunate seasonal aberration. It is the predictable outcome of systemic government paralysis—central, state, and municipal—wrapped in performative seriousness, empty targets, and politically convenient scapegoating. Delhi merely exposes the rot; the disease is nationwide.

The government’s favourite fig leaf is BS6 emission standards. Yes, BS6 is technically superior. Yes, cleaner fuels matter. But treating BS6 as the cornerstone of India’s clean-air strategy is either economic illiteracy or deliberate deception. BS6 applies only to new vehicles. India’s vehicle fleet turns over painfully slowly. Two-wheelers, old diesel trucks, and ageing commercial vehicles remain on the road for 15–20 years. Are Indian citizens genuinely expected to inhale poison for another decade and a half while policymakers congratulate themselves for “world-class norms”?

This is not transition management; it is abdication. Any serious government would have paired BS6 with aggressive, compulsory scrappage, meaningful incentives, and punitive disincentives for high emitters. Instead, scrappage remains voluntary, toothless, under-funded, and conveniently unenforced. Why? Because enforcing it would anger voters, disrupt informal resale markets, and require administrative spine. So the costs are outsourced to public lungs.

Public transport tells the same story of hollow intent. India builds metros like prestige monuments, then refuses to fund the unglamorous but essential last mile. A metro station that requires a private vehicle to reach is not public transport; it is an emissions amplifier. People do not “refuse” to use public transport out of stubbornness—they respond rationally to time, comfort, reliability, and safety. When feeder buses are absent, sidewalks are broken, and work destinations are unreachable, private vehicles win. Every time.

Electric buses are paraded as proof of progress. In reality, deployment numbers are laughably inadequate relative to urban demand. Cities announce tenders, float pilot projects, hold press conferences—and then stall. Charging infrastructure lags. Bus lanes remain politically inconvenient. Fleet utilisation stays low. Electrification without scale and priority corridors is nothing more than green theatre.

Meanwhile, the most obvious pollution sources—road dust, construction debris, uncovered trucks, and poorly regulated logistics—are treated as peripheral irritants rather than core contributors to PM2.5. Municipalities sit on funds allocated under national programs, using a fraction of them, while cities remain visibly filthy. Mechanical sweepers break down. Construction norms are ignored. Enforcement officers look the other way. The economic cost—in health expenditure, lost productivity, and premature mortality—never appears in budget speeches.

And then comes the most cynical manoeuvre of all: the ritualistic vilification of farmers.

Every winter, governments suddenly discover crop burning. Crackdowns are announced. FIRs are threatened. Television debates erupt. This is not environmental governance; it is seasonal political optics. The same state machinery that cannot enforce dust control, scrappage, or construction norms magically discovers coercive capacity when it is electorally convenient to target a politically weak group. The economic reality—that farmers lack viable alternatives at scale, and that governments failed to provide them—is quietly buried.

This selective toughness exposes the truth: pollution control in India is not about outcomes; it is about narratives.

The National Clean Air Programme itself has become an emblem of this failure. Targets exist. Funds exist. But utilisation is abysmal, accountability nonexistent, and consequences for non-performance nil. Cities miss targets, air quality worsens, and yet no official loses office, budget, or credibility. In any functioning system, such persistent failure would trigger institutional reform. In India, it triggers another committee.

The uncomfortable conclusion is this: India’s air pollution crisis persists because pollution is cheaper than competence. The health costs are diffuse, delayed, and borne by citizens. The political costs of decisive action are immediate and concentrated. Rational governments, facing weak accountability, choose inaction dressed up as concern.

This is why India increasingly resembles a banana republic in environmental governance—not because it lacks technology or money, but because it lacks enforcement integrity. Rules exist only until they inconvenience power. Programs exist only until they require delivery. The public is fed slogans, timelines, and dashboards while breathing some of the world’s most toxic urban air.

Clean air will not come from another standard, another app, or another press release. It will come only when governments accept that pollution is an economic liability, not a public relations problem—and are forced to pay a political price for ignoring it.

Until then, Indian cities will continue to suffocate under a thick fog of official denial, seasonal outrage, and permanent inaction—while being told, yet again, that progress is just around the corner.

Tech in modern warfare

 Modern warfare is being fundamentally reshaped. From Ukraine’s battlefields to China’s military reforms, it is clear that 21st-century conflicts are driven more by technological superiority than by sheer troop numbers. For India, with roughly 1.2 million active personnel, this shift presents both a challenge and a strategic opportunity.

Ukraine has emerged as a real-world laboratory for future warfare. The conflict shows how inexpensive technologies can neutralize traditional military advantages. Commercial drones costing a few hundred dollars have destroyed tanks worth millions, while AI-driven targeting, real-time satellite imagery, cyber warfare, and precision munitions have proven more decisive than massed infantry. Ukraine’s use of Starlink communications, crowdsourced intelligence, and AI-assisted artillery has demonstrated that smaller, networked units can outperform large conventional formations.

China offers a parallel case study in deliberate military transformation. In 2015, President Xi Jinping reduced the PLA by 300,000 troops—not as a sign of weakness, but to redirect resources toward advanced capabilities. Investment shifted to hypersonic missiles, stealth aircraft, cyber and space warfare, AI, autonomous systems, and advanced command structures. The creation of the PLA Strategic Support Force consolidated cyber, electronic, and space warfare, enabling China to build one of the world’s most technologically advanced militaries with fewer personnel.

By contrast, India’s armed forces remain largely structured around mid-20th-century doctrines. Personnel costs consume about 60% of the defense budget, leaving limited room for modernization, R&D, and emerging technologies. This creates a cycle where maintaining large forces crowds out investment in drones, AI, cyber capabilities, and space-based intelligence.

Reducing India’s army to around 700,000–800,000 personnel is not about weakening national security, but redefining it. Such a shift could free billions annually for force-multiplying technologies: drone warfare, cyber units, AI-enabled logistics and surveillance, missile defense, and autonomous border monitoring. Given India’s geography, sensors, UAVs, and satellites can often outperform large troop deployments, especially in remote and mountainous terrain.

Critics point to multiple hostile borders, deterrence concerns, and employment issues. However, modern deterrence increasingly comes from technological capability rather than numbers. Precision strike capacity, cyber resilience, and space assets often deter adversaries more effectively than infantry divisions. A phased 10–15 year transition, managed through attrition and retraining, could also shift employment toward higher-skill roles in defense technology and industry.

Future wars will be decided by information dominance, precision, and multi-domain operations—not by oversized conventional forces. As China accelerates modernization and Ukraine reveals the future of warfare, India cannot afford to remain anchored to outdated structures. The real question is not whether India should reform its force structure, but whether it can afford not to. In modern warfare, capability and intelligence increasingly outweigh numbers.

மாயை

 பொலிந்த உலகின் பொய்மை கண்டே

பொங்கி வெடித்தது உள்ளம் — ஹா!

நம்பி நெஞ்சில் நஞ்சே வார்த்தாய்,

நகைத்த முகத்தில் மாயை தானே!

சரளம் சொற்களால் செருக்கை மறைத்து,

சாந்தம் போலே சதித்த நடை—

மார்பின் ஆழத்தில் முத்து என நனைத்த

மறைக்குள் கல்லை தரித்தவளே!

இன்று மீண்டும் நினைவு வந்து

இருட்டின் ஆளாய் நிலையைக் கொண்டாள்;

துடிக்கும் இதயமோ துன்பம் தானே

தூய்மை நெஞ்சின் துரோகச் சுமை!

சிரிப்பு முத்தாம் செருப்பாய் பட்டு,

சிறைபோல் சுமந்த சுகந்த வார்த்தை—

இன்று அவள் வாழ்வு வாடை தாங்கி,

இரங்க மறுப்பது இதயக் கடன்!

தூரம், மூடம், துறக்கம் எல்லாம்

தோற்றமென்றேனும் தோற்றம் தானே;

கருணை போலே கருமம் செய்தாய்—

கண்ட கணங்களில் கள்ளம் வழிந்தாய்!

கண்களில் வீசும் இனிமை கூட

கள்வன் வலைபோல் கணையைக் குத்தி—

துன்பம் சூழும் தருணங்களிலும்

துளியும் தொலைவே தரவில்லை!

மக்கள் நடுவே மிளிர்ந்த நட்சத்திரம்—

மன அண்டத்தில் ஒளியாய் இல்லை;

அமைதி நேரம் அழைத்தபோது

அருகே நிழலாய் அலைந்தவளே!

Dont be a hoarder at 60

Yesterday, I was standing in front of the mirror. I told myself many of what I am writing up below. So, here I am, providing unsolicited life advice. Here it goes.

By the time we cross sixty, we have already spent a lifetime sacrificing, building, worrying, protecting. We have hustled through the prime of our health so that the future could be secure. We saved for children’s education, for weddings, for emergencies, for a retirement that once felt decades away. And now that retirement is here, instead of the freedom we once dreamed of, many of us choose fear. We clutch our bank balances like a fragile shield against the unknown, denying ourselves even the simplest joys.

But we forget something fundamental: children do not measure our love by the wealth we lock away for them. They will stand tall on their own, and the greatest gift we can leave them is not the burden of our unspent legacy, but the memory that we lived well, laughed freely, and taught them the meaning of living without regret. Hoarding for them at the cost of your own comfort is not sacrifice—it is self-neglect disguised as love.

Look back at the years behind you—every rushed morning, every postponed desire, every illness endured without complaint. You did not endure all that to live with the lights dimmed in your own home, counting every rupee as if spending is a crime. You saved so that these years—your years—would be kinder. You earned the right to loosen your shoulders, to sit in a comfortable chair, to travel while your legs still support you, to eat well while you can still taste, and to wake up without worrying about tomorrow’s pennies.

Living cautiously is wise; living joylessly is waste. It is not about reckless spending, but about responsible enjoyment. There is a middle path between extravagance and austerity. Somewhere in that space lies a life where the AC can stay on during a bad summer night, where a taxi is not a guilt-inducing luxury, where a small holiday is not viewed as financial sin. Ask yourself honestly: if not now, then when? Wealth is meant to serve you—not the other way around.

The irony is that guilt becomes our invisible jailer in old age. We feel embarrassed to treat ourselves well. We fear that if we let joy in, disaster will follow. Yet disaster rarely announces itself, and no amount of hoarding can fully shield us from life’s uncertainties. The real tragedy is when money remains unspent and dreams remain unlived, simply because fear kept winning.

In the end, none of us can take anything with us. The savings we count today will one day be someone else’s account entry, untouched by the life we could have lived. And history has always been clear—even those who amassed the greatest fortunes eventually found themselves equal to every common soul beneath the earth. As Thomas Gray reminds us in Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard:

“The paths of glory lead but to the grave.”

Before that path ends—live.