The Emerging Battle of Being Choiceless

The Emerging Battle of Being Choiceless

Recently, I watched the Tamil film Aram. What stayed with me was not merely the story of a child trapped in a borewell, but the deeper question the film asks about the nature of struggle in modern society.

The film unfolds around a tragic yet familiar situation. A child falls into an uncovered borewell, and an entire administration struggles to rescue the child. During the rescue operation, someone raises a haunting question: How can a nation that has mastered the technology to send missions to the Moon not possess a simple, reliable mechanism to save a child trapped in a borewell?

At first glance, the comparison appears unfair. After all, there is no direct connection between space exploration and borewell rescue technology. One does not necessarily come at the expense of the other. India has every reason to be proud of its achievements in science and technology.

Yet the discomfort remains.

The film exposes a contradiction that is difficult to ignore. We celebrate technological milestones that place us among the world's leading nations, but we often fail to solve problems that affect the most vulnerable sections of society. The tragedy is not merely the existence of the problem; it is the absence of urgency in addressing it.

This is not a conventional battle.

In the freedom struggle, the problem was visible. The adversary was identifiable. The objective was clear. People could rally behind a cause and a leader.

Today's struggles are different.

They emerge from systems that nobody fully controls and that everybody partially contributes to. They are embedded in governance, economics, technology, public priorities, and institutional incentives. There is no single villain, no obvious battlefield, and often no clear solution.

Consider the recent enthusiasm surrounding India's rise as a global hub for Global Capability Centres (GCCs). Until recently, this topic barely featured in mainstream discussions. Yet the scale is remarkable. More than 2,100 GCCs employ over 2.36 million professionals across the country. These centres drive global operations, research, development, and increasingly, artificial intelligence innovation for multinational corporations.

This is undoubtedly a significant achievement.

Now compare this with the scale of welfare programs.

In Karnataka alone, various guarantee schemes reportedly reach around 4.6 crore people. Free bus travel for women, direct income support for women-headed households, and subsidized electricity have become lifelines for millions. At the national level, schemes such as MNREGA have historically provided employment support to vast sections of rural India.

There is no direct conflict between GCC growth and welfare schemes. One belongs to the world of global capital and high-skilled employment. The other belongs to social protection and public welfare.

Yet together they reveal something profound.

One India is participating in global innovation networks, building AI systems, managing multinational operations, and creating intellectual property. Another India continues to depend on welfare guarantees and public employment programs to secure basic economic stability.

The challenge is not that one India exists and the other does not. The challenge is that the distance between them appears to be widening.

This is where the emerging battle begins.

The battle is not against technology. It is not against economic growth. Nor is it against welfare programs.

The battle is against becoming increasingly disconnected from the ability to shape our own choices.

When institutions become too complex, when economic opportunities become concentrated, when welfare mechanisms become difficult to influence, and when citizens feel they have little agency over outcomes, a new form of struggle emerges. It is the struggle against becoming spectators in systems that profoundly affect our lives.

I cannot back this entirely with numbers, but there is a growing perception that programs such as MNREGA no longer function with the same effectiveness they once promised. Whether this perception is entirely accurate is beside the point. What matters is that beneficiaries often feel they have little voice in improving the system.

That feeling of powerlessness is itself a warning sign.

The real question facing modern societies is not whether they can achieve technological excellence or deliver welfare benefits. It is whether they can ensure that citizens retain meaningful agency over the direction of their lives.

The child in Aram is not merely trapped in a borewell. The child becomes a metaphor for a society trapped between extraordinary achievements and unresolved basic realities.

Perhaps that is the defining struggle of our time.

Not a battle against an enemy we can see, but a battle against systems that quietly make us feel increasingly choiceless.

And unlike the struggles of the past, this one arrives without banners, without slogans, and without a clearly marked battlefield.

T̶h̶i̶s̶ v̶e̶r̶s̶i̶o̶n̶ s̶h̶a̶r̶p̶e̶n̶s̶ t̶h̶e̶ a̶r̶g̶u̶m̶e̶n̶t̶, r̶e̶d̶u̶c̶e̶s̶ r̶e̶p̶e̶t̶i̶t̶i̶o̶n̶, a̶n̶d̶ f̶r̶a̶m̶e̶s̶ y̶o̶u̶r̶ i̶d̶e̶a̶ a̶s̶ a̶ p̶h̶i̶l̶o̶s̶o̶p̶h̶i̶c̶a̶l̶ r̶e̶f̶l̶e̶c̶t̶i̶o̶n̶ o̶n̶ d̶e̶v̶e̶l̶o̶p̶m̶e̶n̶t̶, g̶o̶v̶e̶r̶n̶a̶n̶c̶e̶, w̶e̶l̶f̶a̶r̶e̶, a̶n̶d̶ c̶i̶t̶i̶z̶e̶n̶ a̶g̶e̶n̶c̶y̶ r̶a̶t̶h̶e̶r̶ t̶h̶a̶n̶ a̶ c̶r̶i̶t̶i̶q̶u̶e̶ o̶f̶ a̶n̶y̶ s̶i̶n̶g̶l̶e̶ p̶o̶l̶i̶c̶y̶ o̶r̶ i̶n̶s̶t̶i̶t̶u̶t̶i̶o̶n̶.

Bias in the mind vs Bias on the paper

Have you ever noticed the sound an ATM makes before dispensing cash? You may be withdrawing a single ₹500 note, yet the machine seems to spend several seconds counting a whole stack of currency before delivering your money. Most of us do not know the exact algorithm behind the process, but the sound is familiar to anyone who has stood waiting at an ATM.

Counting money is not as simple as it appears, especially when it is done manually. Whenever cash was withdrawn from the bank, my mother would always ask my father to count it before spending any of it. Counting currency is a surprisingly delicate task. Count one note twice and you are over-accounting; miss a note and you are under-accounting. Yet not every household finds it necessary to own a currency-counting machine.

When you watch your father or grandfather count a bundle of notes and confidently announce the total amount, there is no display screen showing the result. The number exists only in their mind. You trust that figure and proceed accordingly. If the count later turns out to be incorrect, there is often no way to prove where the mistake occurred. The figure lived in memory, and once spoken, it becomes difficult to verify whether it was accurate or influenced by human error.

Currency-counting machines changed this dynamic. The machine not only counts the notes but also displays the result. Some even provide a printed receipt. The count no longer resides solely in someone's mind; it exists as a visible and verifiable figure. If there is an error, there is at least a record that others can inspect. The invisible mental number is replaced by a documented one.

As we move toward a world where numbers increasingly appear not just in our minds but also on screens, receipts, and digital records, an interesting question emerges: Are we moving toward a world without bias?

Perhaps not.

Imagine sleeping on a bare floor. The floor offers no special treatment. It does not adjust itself according to who lies upon it. In that sense, it is completely impartial. It behaves the same way for everyone.

Now consider a mattress. A mattress changes its shape depending on the person using it. It responds to weight, posture, and movement. Its behavior is not identical for every individual. In a way, it exhibits a form of bias—not out of preference, but because it adapts to the person occupying it.

The same may be true of the systems we build. Records, machines, and digital figures can reduce certain forms of human subjectivity, but they do not necessarily eliminate bias altogether. They may simply shift it from one place to another—from the mind of an individual to the design of a system.

Yet people differ in what they value. Some deliberately choose to sleep on the floor, appreciating its simplicity and consistency. Others cannot imagine a good night's sleep without a comfortable mattress that adapts to them.

Perhaps the challenge is not to create a world entirely free of bias, but to understand which forms of bias we are willing to accept and which ones we seek to eliminate.

When we loose our keys that opens door to our destination

Here's a polished and more engaging version of your blog while preserving the humor, cultural references, and philosophical reflection:

The Key We Forgot to Carry

I recently came across a hilarious advertisement on Facebook. It featured a space voyager who had just landed on a distant world after a long and exciting journey. Overflowing with enthusiasm, he stepped out of his spacecraft to explore his new surroundings.

A few moments later, reality struck.

The spacecraft door had locked itself from the inside, and our brave explorer had forgotten to carry the key.

Imagine traveling across galaxies only to be stranded outside your own spaceship because of something as ordinary as misplaced keys!

While the situation was fictional, the idea behind it felt surprisingly real. After all, who hasn't experienced the panic of losing a key? Sometimes it's the key to your bike. Sometimes it's the key to your home. Almost everyone has faced that sinking feeling at least once in their life.

In Indian cinema, especially those set against a rural backdrop, there is often a special place reserved for the household key bunch. The person entrusted with carrying it is usually regarded as the most responsible member of the family. It is almost a badge of honor. In fact, many films humorously portray a silent rivalry—or even a full-fledged cold war—between family members, particularly the women of the house, over who deserves the privilege of safeguarding the keys.

Keys are fascinating objects. They are small, ordinary, and easy to overlook. Yet they hold the power to grant access, responsibility, authority, and trust.

Perhaps life works in a similar way.

The keys to our next chapter are rarely handed to us in plain sight. More often, they are hidden within challenges, disguised as failures, or encoded within riddles that demand patience and understanding. We spend years searching for answers, only to discover that the "key" was never a physical object but a lesson, a realization, or a shift in perspective.

Each stage of life presents a new lock and a new puzzle. To move forward, we must learn to decipher the clues, understand the nature of the key we seek, and gather the courage to use it.

Who knows? The next version of ourselves may be waiting just beyond a door we have not yet learned how to unlock.