e Magus

Last week, I was speaking with a startup founder, and something he said stuck with me. He remarked, "The Internet made information accessible to all. Now, AI is making knowledge accessible to all." That got me thinking—what will happen to knowledge in the future? For much of human history, knowledge was scarce and precious. From the guru-shishya tradition in the Vedic period to the hallowed halls of Alexandria, Nalanda, and Taxila, knowledge wasn’t just acquired—it was earned through deliberation, reflection, and debate. Questions led to more questions, and understanding was forged in the fire of discussion. It wasn’t merely about information; it was about insight—about peeling away layers of meaning through patient inquiry. Today, knowledge is abundant, overflowing, and, in many ways, devalued. I believe the future of knowledge will be shaped by three fundamental shifts: its diminishing value, a return to ancient forms of learning, and an emerging paradigm that challenges ...

The other day, I wrote about sound as a barrier, thanks to technology. However, any news channel I tune into is debating India’s National Education Policy (NEP) 2020—specifically, the three-language formula in schools. The policy aims to promote multilingualism and cultural integration by ensuring that students learn three languages, with at least two being native to India, while not imposing any specific language. (NEP 2020 - Wikipedia) Here, too, language can be both a bridge and a barricade. It connects people, cultures, and ideas, yet it also draws boundaries—defining who belongs and who does not. Recent media reports about tensions with 'non-locals' in Bangalore and Pune are symptoms of a deeper issue. The Gokak agitation of the 1980s and the anti-Hindi protests of the 1960s remind us that this debate has persisted for decades. The three-language formula is an elegant compromise on paper—a way to balance national unity, local identity, and global relevance. In practice, ho...

After many days (over 2,000, if it matters), I went to the gym again. The layout had changed a bit, and some new equipment had been added... but something felt off. Then I realised—it was the music. The once-familiar peppy beats, played out loud for everyone, were missing. Instead, all I saw were people with headsets or AirPods, lost in their own worlds. It made me wonder. Sound was once the great unifier of human experience. It was our earliest tool for connection—a way to greet, negotiate, confirm, and console. In its purest form, it was a bridge, a means to break barriers. Even ancient Vedic wisdom was codified as Shruti—wisdom that must be heard. Sound had to be received, absorbed, and shared. Technology only amplified this connectivity. The radio, with programs like Binaca Geetmala, was once the centrepiece of the home, bringing families together. Church bells and temple gongs summoned people to congregate, reinforcing a shared sense of belonging. The ringing mobile phone —until s...