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, ...

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...