My Thoughts My Pen
Mind is like monkey thoughts are like monkeys acts I just try to put these thoughts in to pen. One fine day when I have nothing to do I might sit back and read how I played my monkey mind!!!!!!!!!!!!
Thursday, October 22, 2026
Religious scripts are not the problem its (mis)interpretation of the texts are the problem
Friday, July 24, 2026
We Know Our Rights By Heart. Do We Know Our Duties?
We Know Our Rights By
Heart. Do We Know Our Duties?
A
few months ago, a video of a man refusing to stand for the national anthem in a
cinema hall went viral, followed by the now-familiar cycle: outrage, op-eds, a
few arrests, and, within a week, silence. Around the same time, in the same
news cycle, another story got a fraction of the attention — a municipal survey
found that a majority of respondents in several Indian cities admitted to
routinely littering public spaces, dodging civic taxes they knew they owed, or
ignoring queue discipline "when no one was watching." Nobody
organised a protest about that one. Nobody made a reel.
That
contrast says something about us. Ask any Indian to name a Fundamental Right,
and most will manage at least two or three — equality, freedom of speech, the
right to life. Ask the same person to name a Fundamental Duty, and the silence
tends to be longer. This isn't a trivia gap. It's a symptom of how lopsided our
relationship with the Constitution has become, quick to demand, slow to
deliver.
A
Constitution Built With Two Halves, But We Only Read One
The
Constitution gives us both halves of this contract, and it does so
deliberately. Part III (Articles 12-35) lays out our Fundamental Rights —
enforceable in court, backed by the full weight of the judiciary, and rightly
celebrated as the backbone of Indian democracy. Part IV-A, added through the
42nd Amendment in 1976, gives us 11 Fundamental Duties. Among them: respect the
Constitution and its ideals, defend the country, promote harmony among all
citizens, preserve our composite culture, develop scientific temper, safeguard
public property, and strive toward excellence in every field of individual and
collective activity.
Here's
the catch, and it's the hinge on which this entire debate turns: rights are
justiciable. Duties are not. If your right is violated, you can walk into a
courtroom and demand redress, and the state is bound to respond. If you violate
your duty litter a public park, evade tax, incite communal hatred online, or
simply refuse to vote no court will summon you. The Constitution asks. It
doesn't compel. And that single asymmetry explains almost everything about why
one half of the Constitution lives rent-free in our national consciousness
while the other gathers dust in a textbook appendix.
Why
We Gravitated Toward One Half
This
lopsidedness isn't laziness on the part of citizens; it's structural incentive
working exactly as you'd expect. A violated right is personal and immediate you
feel it, and the system hands you a clear path to fight back: a petition, a
lawyer, a headline. A neglected duty, by contrast, is diffuse and collective.
The damage from a hundred people skipping their civic responsibilities is
entirely real: potholed roads nobody reported, a river nobody stopped
polluting, an election nobody bothered to vote in, but no single victim can
point to a single wrongdoer and demand justice. There's no one to sue for a
country's collective apathy.
Political
mobilisation follows this same logic, because movements need a villain and a
courtroom, not a mirror. Parties, activists, and civil society organise around
rights because that's where the energy, the votes, and the headlines are.
Nobody builds a movement around "we should all be developing scientific
temper" or "let's collectively remember to segregate our waste."
Civic education compounds the problem further; most schoolchildren across the
country can recite the Preamble from memory, yet a large number couldn't list
even four of the 11 duties if asked in an exam tomorrow. We have built an
entire civic imagination around what we're owed, and almost none around what we
owe back.
What
This Imbalance Actually Costs Us
The
consequence isn't abstract or merely philosophical; it shows up in the texture
of daily national life. It's visible in the corruption we tolerate as long as
it benefits "our side" of a political or social divide. It's visible
in the environmental destruction we protest loudly about in the abstract
climate change, deforestation, air quality while rarely altering our own habits
of consumption, waste, or water use. It's visible in low voter turnout in some
of the very constituencies loudest about their rights being ignored, as though
voting were someone else's job. A democracy is meant to function as a two-way
contract: the state owes citizens their rights, and citizens owe the republic
their duties in return. When only one half of that contract lives in public
consciousness, we end up with a citizenry fluent in grievance but out of
practice in responsibility, quick to insist "the government must,"
rarely pausing to ask "what must I."
The
Fair Counter-Argument
None
of this is a call to guilt-trip citizens into silence, and it's worth being
honest about the other, equally important side of this debate. The framers
deliberately made Fundamental Duties non-justiciable, and they had good reason
to. A state legally empowered to punish citizens for "insufficient
patriotism" or "inadequate civic virtue" is a dangerous
instrument in the wrong hands one that could easily be weaponised against
dissenters, minorities, or inconvenient journalists, all under the comfortable
guise of "enforcing duty." Keeping duties moral rather than legal was
a deliberate safeguard against exactly this kind of majoritarian overreach, not
a drafting oversight.
There's
also a legitimate and pressing concern that "focus on your duties, not
just your rights" rhetoric has been and continues to be used to silence
people raising genuine grievances, telling protestors to be "more
dutiful" instead of addressing what they are protesting about in the first
place. Rights exist precisely because they cannot be made conditional on good
behaviour; that is the entire point of a right, and no amount of duty-talk
should be allowed to quietly erode that principle.
Where
That Leaves Us
The
answer, then, isn't to make duties legally enforceable; that road leads
somewhere far more dangerous than mere civic apathy. The answer is cultural and
educational. Schools could test students on the 11 duties with the same
seriousness they test them on the Preamble. Civic curricula could spend as much
time on "what do I owe my neighbourhood" as they do on "what can
I demand from the state." Local bodies could publicly track small,
measurable duty-linked outcomes: voter turnout, waste segregation compliance,
tax filing rates, the way they already track grievance redressal.
None
of this requires a single new law. It requires a citizenry that treats civic
duty as seriously as it treats civic entitlement — not because the Constitution
threatens punishment, but because a republic only survives on citizens who show
up for it, not just citizens who show up to demand from it.
We
built a Constitution with two halves. It's time we started reading both.
Wednesday, July 15, 2026
India's Parliament Is Getting Older While India Gets Younger — Why That's a Problem
India's Parliament Is
Getting Older While India Gets Younger — Why That's a Problem
India
is one of the youngest countries on earth. As of 2024, roughly 65-66% of
Indians are under the age of 35, and the median age of the population is around
29-30 years. Yet the people making decisions for this young country are, on
average, nowhere close to that age. We need more young people in politics
because they tend to bring new perspectives and energy, which can challenge
outdated thinking and encourage innovation. they bring fresh ideas, make
politics more representative, because a significant share of the population
otherwise has little voice in decisions that shape their lives, they represent
large part of the population and help to make democracy more inclusive and
focused on future. Youth participation also improves policy on issues that
affect them directly, like education, jobs, climate and public services
A
Widening Gap
The
18th Lok Sabha (2024) has been called the oldest parliament in India's history.
Over half of its 543 MPs — 52% — are older than 55. The average age of an
elected MP is 56, only a marginal dip from 59 in the previous Lok Sabha. Just
11% of MPs are 40 or younger, and only about 1 in 20 MPs is under 35 — even
though nearly two out of every three Indians fall into that age bracket.
Contrast this with India's very first Lok Sabha in 1951-52, when the average MP
was 46.5 years old and roughly 1 in 6 MPs was under 35 — a far closer mirror of
the country's own demographic makeup at the time.
This
is not a minor statistical curiosity. It is the picture of a governing body
that looks less and less like the population it represents, at exactly the
moment India's youth population needs its aspirations, its anxieties, and its
technological fluency reflected in policy.
Why
the Age Gap Matters
The
concern isn't simply that older leaders are incapable of understanding young
people — many are thoughtful and stay engaged with change. The concern is
structural: lived experience shapes priorities, and a parliament skewed heavily
toward one generation will systematically underweight the concerns of another.
Today's
under-35 Indians are the first generation to grow up entirely inside the
smartphone economy, gig work, AI, and platform-based livelihoods. They face a
youth unemployment rate that stood at 10.2% in 2023-24, entering a job market
where a large share of graduates is considered underprepared for the work
actually available. These are not abstract problems — they are the daily
reality of the very demographic barely represented in the chamber shaping
labour law, education policy, and technology regulation.
A
legislature dominated by a much older cohort is less likely to intuitively
grasp the urgency of these issues, or to legislate with the technical fluency
needed to regulate AI, fintech, gig-work platforms, and data privacy — all
areas where the underlying technology is moving faster than most lawmakers'
direct experience with it.
The
Nepotism Problem Compounds the Age Problem
Nepotism
in politics creates a range of interconnected problems, both practical and
democratic: The age gap is worsened by how dynastic Indian politics remains.
Analysis by the Association for Democratic Reforms found that 21% of India's
sitting MPs, MLAs, and MLCs come from political families — with the rate rising
to 31% in the Lok Sabha specifically, meaning nearly one in three MPs inherited
a family's political capital rather than building their own path from outside
the system. This isn't confined to one party: research from Harvard and the
University of Mannheim found dynastic representation has historically run at
comparable levels across India's two largest parties, with smaller regional
parties often showing even higher concentrations of family-based succession.
Dynastic
entry tends to reinforce the age problem rather than fix it, since political
families often groom successors within established networks and ideologies
rather than opening space for genuinely new voices, technical experts, or
first-generation entrants — the very people most likely to bring fresh thinking
on technology, transparency, and governance reform.
What
Younger, More Independent Parliamentarians Could Offer
Technological
fluency: lawmakers who have built apps, worked in startups, or grown up online
are better positioned to write laws for AI, data protection, and the digital
economy — rather than legislating a world they only encounter second-hand.
Direct
stake in outcomes: younger MPs will personally live with the consequences of
today's decisions on climate, jobs, and debt for another 40-50 years, giving
them a different relationship to long-term trade-offs than a lawmaker in their
70s.
Disruption
of entrenched networks: candidates who rise on merit or grassroots support
rather than family name are structurally less indebted to the patronage
networks that enable corruption, since they owe less to inherited alliances and
favours.
Closing
the representation gap: a legislature that mirrors the country's actual age
profile is likely to produce policy that reflects lived priorities rather than
assumptions about what young people need.
The
Counterargument Worth Taking Seriously
None
of this means age or lineage alone determines merit, and a fair treatment of
this topic has to acknowledge the other side:
Experience
has real value: Legislating well requires understanding institutions,
coalition-building, and the slow mechanics of governance — skills that often
take years to develop, and older MPs bring institutional memory that a fully
inexperienced legislature would lack.
Young
and dynastic are not mutually exclusive: Many of India's youngest MPs today are
themselves the children or spouses of established politicians, meaning
"younger parliamentarians" alone does not automatically solve the
nepotism problem — dynasties have simply started grooming successors earlier.
Some
structural reforms matter more than age: Critics argue the deeper fixes are
things like state funding of elections, curbing the enormous cost of
campaigning (a major reason parties lean on wealthy or well-connected
candidates), and strengthening intra-party democracy — reforms that could open the
door to younger and non-dynastic candidates alike, regardless of any specific
age target.
Technology
fluency isn't strictly generational: Plenty of older policymakers work closely
with technical advisors and younger staff, and legislative competence on
technology depends more on institutional capacity — expert committees, research
wings — than on a lawmaker's personal age.
The
Bottom Line
The
data is hard to argue with: India's parliament has grown older even as India
itself has grown younger, and a meaningful share of its members owe their seats
to family lineage rather than an independent political rise. Whatever the
counterarguments about experience, the case for more younger, technically
literate, and less dynastically-tied parliamentarians rests on a simple
democratic principle — a legislature should, at minimum, resemble the country
it governs closely enough to legislate its future with genuine understanding,
not inherited assumption.
---
Sources:
-
18th Lok Sabha data (Wikipedia, PRS Legislative Research, ADR);
-
India demographic data (UN World Population Prospects, Worldometer, Economic
Survey 2024);
-
Dynastic politics data (Association for Democratic Reforms/National Election
Watch, Harvard-Mannheim dataset via IndiaSpend/Scroll/ThePrint).