4th Dimension

 I grew up being told that my name, Pratham, comes from a Gujarati bhajan “pratham pela samariye…” Before anything, we remember you. As a Barodian, this wasn’t presented to me as philosophy. It was just… how things were done. You start with him. You invoke him. You don’t really ask why. And for a long time, I didn’t. But at some point, that unquestioned habit starts to itch a little. Why him? Why this particular figure, round-bellied, elephant-headed, seated with sweets in hand and a mouse at his feet, presiding over beginnings of all things? Businesses, weddings, journeys, exams. Everything begins with Ganesha. If you ask around, you’ll get the standard answer: he removes obstacles. Which sounds satisfying, until you pause long enough to realise it explains almost nothing. Because it raises a better question: why does the remover of obstacles look like that? For many outside India, the conversation rarely gets past the elephant head. It’s treated like a visual quirk,interesting, ...

Listen In English · Listen in English Listen in Hindi · Listen in Hindi What do you call a democracy that’s afraid of numbers? A performance. India, the world’s largest democracy, has quietly stopped counting. Not people. Not jobs. Not food. Not death. Not hunger. Certainly not truth. Since 2014, this country armed with satellites, biometric surveillance, and digital dreams has managed to misplace its most basic tool of governance: statistics. A Government of Headlines, Not Data You may have noticed. Every time the numbers start to get ugly unemployment rises, consumption drops, or fewer children are vaccinated those numbers vanish. Like magic. And if they don’t vanish, they arrive so late they miss the news cycle entirely. Take the 2021 Census. It’s now 2025. Still missing. We’re running a welfare state based on population data from when TikTok didn’t exist, and Modi was just entering his first term. Unemployment reached a 45-year high in 2017-18. That’s not a rumour,...

“ I want to write, but I don't have readers .” With this quiet lament, Nagendra Vijay; editor of Safar, announced the end of a magazine that, for over four decades, had faithfully delivered science in Gujarati to curious minds across India. For me, someone who love to finish reading entire issue of safari as soon as it arrives; Its closure is not merely a matter of lost pages but a signal of a much deeper cultural crisis: the erosion of scientific temperament in contemporary India. Safari kept me ahead from my time, I knew about Brahmos in 1997, I knew about Gazi Attack, Iraq evacuations, RAW missions, Massod Missions, Gaza Conflicts, Afghan war etc. before films/series were made on them through safari, Safari covered, history, polity and sociological topics in most engaging and intriguing ways. This magazine played vital role in groming my personality, my career and my thinking pattern. Now I think, what happened to a country that once positioned science at the heart of its nation...

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...

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?...

This week, I came across an intriguing series titled "adolescence" . full of drama and excellent subject matter that made me think about the plight of young “adolescent" India. India has 253 million adolescents, the largest in the world, teeming with potential energy. One might believe this generation stands on the cusp of greatness, poised to lead India into a luminous future. And yet, the harshness of reality intervenes: India’s adolescents are dying in tens of thousands, not through war or famine, but through a systematic betrayal perpetrated by social media, unhelpful educational institutions, and an insidious consumerist culture. Let me share why I am saying so… between 1995 and 2021, 134,735 adolescents aged 10–19 years died by suicide,  an average of over 5,180 per year. In 2021 alone, 10,730 adolescents under 18 ended their own lives — marking a 42% increase compared to the year 2000. Suicides are rising not only among 15–19-year-olds but also among younger ado...

Yesterday, I met my ex-neighbour at a temple. Not just any temple. The Umiya Devi temple—the unofficial parliament for a certain caste’s community matters. He was beaming. Turns out, his caste group is organising a National Business Summit. Not a business summit. A caste-based business summit. For businesspersons of their caste only, thank you very much. Proudly, he informed me that he’s on the executive organising team. Big deal. Big pride. Big caste. And then it hit me. Again. My city just hosted a Global Patidar Business Summit. Before that, a Global Brahmin Summit. Add a couple of Yadav Yatras and Vaishya Ventures, and we’ve basically got an unofficial caste-based G20 happening every few months. Now, as someone who eats, sleeps and occasionally overthinks sociology, caste always felt like that stubborn stain on your white shirt. It fades, sure. But it never disappears. And yesterday, I saw why. Caste survives because it accommodates. It makes room for people who are left out by the...

I was having lunch with my faculty colleagues, just trying to survive the afternoon, when the topic of parenting popped up. Again. Except this time, it wasn’t just casual griping about screen time or school fees. It turned into something oddly philosophical. My colleagues, all seasoned parents, started discussing “how we were raised” versus “how we are raising.” And there I was—a new dad, wide-eyed, mildly confused, and deeply conflicted. I’m a 90s kid. Grew up on a healthy diet of cartoon violence, weekend Doordarshan movies, and the constant fear of being shouted at for no reason. Our parents didn’t negotiate. They didn’t ask how we felt. They didn't even ask why  and what happened in the class. You didn’t get time-outs. You got “the look”—you know, the one that made your soul shiver. Now, here I am, trying to parent in an age where I’m supposed to gently narrate my toddler’s emotions back to him while she’s screaming because the spoon is the wrong colour. Honestly, it's enou...