4th Dimension

While watching interesting culinary history episode of Raja, Rasoi aur Kahaniyan, I shared my observations claiming richness in water, agriculture and migration adds to richness in cuisines of Punjab and Gujarat. As usual, my father clichèd about Gujarati cuisine by naming Dal Dhokli, as the rich cuisine of Gujarat 😉. Though the most neglected recipe, Dal Dhokli holds valuable significance to me as a student of society. When Fields Were Recipes (c. 2000 BCE – 1000 BCE) Let’s go back; way back; to Chalcolithic Gujarat. At Lothal and Rangpur, archaeobotanist find traces of pigeon pea, black gram, wheat, barley, and millet. These weren’t just crops; they were culinary philosophy. The land dictated the menu: protein-rich pulses + carb-dense grains = complete, resilient diet. This ecological pairing seeded what would later become Dal Dhokli. No, it didn’t arrive in a clay pot as dumplings in daal; but the logic was there. The pulse-grain matrix. The blend of sustenance and satiety. Rituals...

Last time when I wrote a blog post on Non- Brahmanical Goddesses, my friends asked questions about Non-Brahmanical gods. When I started looking around, I figured out many local Pir, Veer, Dev, Maharaj… these Deities are worshipped by people on the margins. their rituals, legends, and lores are really intriguing… You've probably encountered a shrine that felt a little too real. Not the polished marble kind with donation counters and security guards, but a heap of stones under a neem tree, a red flag fluttering nearby, maybe a clay horse or a garlanded sword. You might pause and think: is this also a god? The answer is yes; but not the kind who sits quietly in a textbook. These are the folk deities of India: untempled, uncanonised, and utterly indispensable. They don’t descend from Sanskrit verses. They emerge from oral memory, bone-deep loyalty, and local justice. They live where myth meets mud. Headless Heroes and Snakebite Promises Let’s begin with Bhathiji Maharaj; or as some tr...

It all began, as many profound sociological inquiries do, with a toddler, a cartoon, and an unintended insult. I overheard an Indian mother scolding her three-year-old son for calling his father "Papa Pig." The horror in her voice was matched only by the child's innocent grin. Now, calling someone a pig in India isn’t just cheeky, it’s bordering on blasphemous. Yet here was a child, clearly influenced by Peppa Pig, nonchalantly dropping farm-animal epithets. Intrigued, and slightly amused, I began to dig deeper. After all, cartoons aren’t just moving pictures. They’re miniature empires of soft power. Me, who grew up with Mowgli’s jungle wisdom, Uncle Scrooge’s capitalist acumen, Dexter’s lab-coat logic, and the Powerpuff Girls’ sugar-spice-chemical-X formula for justice, I hold a certain reverence for cartoons. But today, as a father and a sociologist, I find myself questioning: what are these cartoons really teaching our children? And who, exactly, is doing the teaching?...

It began with an earnest LinkedIn post; a student sharing reflections on his coursework, unaware of the quiet storm he would stir. His sincerity was disarming, even moving. But more than that, it was revealing. It laid bare a systemic fissure so wide and deep that it forced a confrontation with one of India’s most uncomfortable truths: we are creating workers, not citizens. This isn’t a new phenomenon. The colonial British administration designed Indian education to produce a subservient workforce—literate, skilled, but obedient. Their ideal subject was efficient but unquestioning, trained to execute rather than inquire. This colonial residue, far from dissipating in post-independence India, has been inherited and adapted—by corporations, by governments, and, most insidiously, by our educational institutions. Today, India finds itself in a paradox. We aspire to be a Vishwaguru, a global teacher, a beacon of civilisational knowledge, while systematically undercutting the very foundation...