Project Pravaha

91% of young people say they have little to no influence on political decisions related to peace and security

In India, 70% of the youth were unaware of government-run skill-development programmes in their area

In a survey of 40,000 young people in 150 + countries, 31% say their education is not preparing them with the skills they need to get jobs

Pravaha (प्रवाह) — meaning “flow” in Hindi, is an initiative envisioned as a participatory research and publishing platform for young voices across the globe. The idea is simple yet radical: to create a space where youth, regardless of geography, class, or academic background, can interact, express, and publish their insights on issues that matter to public life.

communism can infact solve a lot of problems.

free healthcare would only mean more people will get accessible healthcare options, and no, it would not mean people will hang out for leisure in hospital lobbies or start eating free medicines as breakfast. it would also not affect the R&D quality in the health sector either, because then education would be communist too

free education would only make more people, of all ages and types to go to school. people will not just start producing more children to avail free schooling, but if they do, hypothetically, then it would solve the fertility crisis

free food would mean people will waste more food, but they do it anyway now

free basic clothes would only shelter bodies from the weather

the reason you support capitalism, if you do, is because you think you can be rich, which is a very bleak possibility, especially to become a millionaire or billionaire.

but on a scale, you are closer in terms of wealth to a homeless person than whoever tops the Forbes list

because you worship wealth, you worship the rich, without realising that wealth and rich are different concepts

capitalism is supported by rich people and because you are so attracted to them, you automatically support them without realising it would give you nothing in return

what, however, might shield you from being broke next summer is the communist policies of your government, if you, as a citizen, force them to make a few

The Moral Measure of a Species: On Specism, Empathy, and Animal Rights

"If you crush a cockroach, you're a hero. If you crush a butterfly, you're a villain. Morals have aesthetic criteria."

These words echo not merely as metaphor, but as indictment. Beauty, as ever, remains a cruel legislator of our ethics.

The idea that sparked a global reconsideration of how we treat non-human creatures found its most articulate expression in Peter Singer’s seminal work, Animal Liberation. Here, he coins a term as morally provocative as it is philosophically urgent—specism. Much like racism or sexism, specism represents a prejudice: the prioritization of one species’ interests over another’s, often without just cause—most notably, our own over all others.

This is not merely a moral dilemma; it is a question of applied ethics, where philosophy, instead of drawing hard lines, offers approaches—mirrors, perhaps, in which we see our own contradictions laid bare.

One such approach is the aesthetic argument. We tend to defend what we find visually or emotionally appealing: a kitten finds sanctuary, a piglet finds slaughter. What, then, is the moral weight of "cute"? Does the downy fur of a puppy justify its salvation, while the supposed repulsiveness of a rat ensures its poison? Even among ourselves, this logic persists as “pretty privilege” or the halo effect—biases of appearance masquerading as virtue. When ethics yields to aesthetics, we do not build justice—we sculpt illusions.

Singer clarifies (and I paraphrase) that animal rights need not mirror human rights. Granting dogs the right to vote is nonsensical—not because they are inferior, but because their capacities and needs differ. What animals require are natural rights: the right to life, and the right to space—not in terms of fenced property, but existential autonomy. To deprive them of this is to mutilate the fabric of shared existence.

In Immanuel Kant’s moral schema, every human is an end in themselves—never a means to another’s desire. Extend this logic, and a profound argument for animal dignity emerges. Should not animals, as cohabitants of this planet, be treated as ends too—not mere instruments of entertainment or nutrition?

Yet, there exists another paradigm—the anthropocentric hierarchy—wherein humans sit atop a self-fashioned biological pyramid, kings of a dominion constructed in their own image. This view grants humans divine exemption from the natural loop, justifying domination under the veil of superiority.

But I find this view narcissistic, even cosmically comical. The idea of a "biological ladder" is a fiction, inscribed by the same hand that burns forests and cages lives. The earth does not recognize our thrones. All things—man, mouse, monarch butterfly—are born from the same five elements (pancha mahabhuta) and will return to them, indistinguishable in their dust. In the face of a tsunami or a virus, the emperor and the earthworm are equal.

The food chain, often cited in these debates, is misunderstood. It is not a linear hierarchy, but a cyclical tapestry woven from necessity—not vanity. The lion does not kill for sport. The serpent does not hoard its prey. Only we, armed with supermarkets and science, slaughter for taste, thrill, or tradition.

Why, when we have choice, do we still choose cruelty?

John Stuart Mill’s utilitarian ethics offers a stark litmus test: can they suffer? If the answer is yes—as it is for pigs, cows, dogs, whales, chickens—then inflicting pain, especially for pleasure, cannot be ethically justified. The glee of kicking a dog is meaningless beside the agony the dog endures.

And yet, as with all moral questions, the answer lies not in absolutes, but in perspective.

If you see animals as inferior tools of your survival, the question of their rights might seem ludicrous. But remember: centuries ago, people believed women could not think rationally, that slaves were mere property, that children were parental assets rather than autonomous beings. Ethics evolves. So must we.

The world changes every day—not just in its science and steel, but in its soul. Evolution is not only of the body, but of empathy. And empathy is the highest form of human intelligence—not the kind that conquers nature, but the kind that coexists with it.

Animal rights need not begin in legislation. They begin in gesture. Not everyone may turn vegan or join PETA. But to offer water to a thirsty bird, to shield a stray from rain, to pause before stepping on an ant—these are acts of quiet revolution.

Ancient Indian scriptures revered animals—not merely as companions, but as avatars of divinity. The cow as sacred, the monkey as Hanuman, the elephant as Ganesha—our own mythologies whisper what modernity forgets: that we are not rulers, but stewards.

Let us, then, restore the moral order—not by reimagining animals in human terms, but by recognizing the sacred continuum of life.

Let us build a world where coexistence is not a compromise, but a celebration.

Let us, finally, be kind.

On Liberal Arts

Where do the students of liberal arts go, after mastering history’s truths, philosophy’s provocations, and sociology’s structures? They exit universities with minds sharpened but pockets empty, not for lack of intelligence, but because the market deems their knowledge untranslatable. Their CVs are heavy with ideas but light on “hard skills.” They drift into underpaid roles or unrelated industries, watching the very disciplines that scaffold society be dismissed as indulgent or obsolete.

But is this the fault of liberal arts? Or is it the blindness of an economy that can quantify code but not conscience?

The current system appears to conflate demand with value. Tech is in demand, so tech is valued. But politics, economics, law, philosophy—these are not industries. They are inheritances. They are the ancient ligaments of the body politic, the compass for collective existence. Long before a line of code was ever typed, societies were debating governance under banyan trees and in Greek agoras. Without understanding justice, no software can solve social inequality; without political wisdom, no innovation can protect peace.

And yet, here we are—treating the liberal arts as ornamental in a house that is crumbling.

Education is not merely a production line for employment—it is the crucible in which societies sculpt their conscience.

As liberal arts students, we do not seek pity. We seek purpose. And we offer something indispensable in return—context. A code without context can build an empire or a surveillance state. But a society that knows its stories, its struggles, its philosophies—that is a society that endures.

In a world obsessed with speed, liberal arts teaches us why we are running.

And that question—more than any algorithm—is what might save us.

Half-Empty or Half-Fool?

Written by: Shubhangi Ashish

You must have heard of the "glass half-empty or half-full test." Psychologists use simple tests like this to determine whether a person tends to be an optimist or a pessimist. Optimists will usually say the glass is half-full, whereas pessimists will usually point out that it's half-empty. Optimists tend to focus on the good: there is still water available to drink. Pessimists, on the other hand, see the negative: there is water missing from what otherwise could be a full glass.

Dumb question, I know, but the dumber the question, the smarter the answers. This article is a simple critique of this test and a lot of other things. 

False Dichotomy

Humans perceive most of reality in terms of dichotomy: masculine-feminine, yin-yang, purush-prakriti, and now, full or empty. Existence comes with very defined labels and solid boundaries: what one can be and why not the opposite.

With time, we graduated to spectrums, gradients, fluid identities, and anti-definitions. But pop psychology is still stuck in its boxed-up ways, in this case asking you to slot yourself into the sunshine-laced smile of the optimist or the brooding corner of the pessimist. The problem isn't that the test wants to classify—it’s that it classifies poorly

2. Anekantavada and Superposition

Anekāntavāda is Jainism’s metaphysical gift to the world: a doctrine that says reality is complex, irreducible, and cannot be fully grasped by a single perspective. The glass is half-full and half-empty and neither and both, depending on the naya—your standpoint.

Syādvāda then follows conditional predication. Maybe the glass is half-empty from one angle, half-full from another. Nayavāda? Partial viewpoints. 

In quantum physics, particles exist in superposition—multiple states at once until observed. Borrow that for philosophy, and you get a cognitive superposition: truth existing in overlapping, unresolved narratives.

The beauty of Anekāntavāda? It doesn’t seek comfort in finality. It resists closures. No full stops, only semicolons. It isn’t about closure, but complexity. And in that complexity, there is honesty.

3. Truth Without Context, the Problem of Metaphysics, and "Nothing Is True"

Let’s be blunt: you can’t know the truth. Not because you’re not smart enough, but because no one is. Because the context is infinite, and our lifespans are not. Because truth without context is like a punchline without a setup—it falls flat. There is no intellectual shortcut to truth; the actual truth.

Science isn’t true; it’s useful. It changes. Astrology isn’t true either—but it’s also useful, sometimes. Your name isn’t the truth of who you are. Even the glass isn’t just glass. It’s a temporary arrangement of atoms in space, meaningful only because we decided so (as Sartre would say). 

If the glass started empty and got filled halfway, it’s half-full. If it started full and lost water, it’s half-empty. If you don’t know what came before, it’s both. Or neither. Context collapses meaning into precision. Without it, your judgment is guesswork, cosplaying as insight.

Metaphysics tried to get to the essence of being, but got lost in language loops. Martin Heidegger said that Being reveals itself only through our situated experience. We cannot step outside our historicity, language, and culture to access pure, context-free truth. Similarly, Michel Foucault showed how knowledge and truth are always intertwined with power relations and discursive formations, challenging the idea of neutral, objective truth. And, Ludwig Wittgenstein famously emphasized the role of language-games and forms of life in determining meaning. A statement’s truth value depends on the language and context in which it is expressed. Truth claims are not isolated propositions floating free; they are embedded in particular life contexts, cultural norms, and linguistic practices.

4. Experience, Conditioning, and Plato’s Cave

We already know how we perceive the world is largely the product of our lives or heard. We are all conditioned for certain behaviors, biased in our thinking and are expected to follow certain norms at all times for the greater good of society. What we think is not what we actually think, but mostly a mosaic of everything we have interacted with so far. Kudos to all the independent thinkers, and keeping bandwagon thinkers aside, our thinking is conditioned and hence predictable.

Think you’re original? Cute.

Someone raised on full glasses will see lack. Someone raised on empty glasses will see potential. The object doesn’t change, but its meaning does. This is Plato’s Allegory of Cave all over again. 

5. Distribution of Resources: Who Gets the Water?

Now let's upgrade the metaphor. It’s not about what you see in the glass—it’s about who owns the glass, who poured the water, and who gets to drink it.

In a world where resources are finite and systems are rigged, optimism is a privilege. You think the poor are pessimistic because they saw a glass as half-empty? No, they just never had a glass. Or worse, they made the glass, filled it, and handed it over to someone else.

Not everyone has the luxury to debate metaphors. Some are just thirsty. So, will the well-hydrated person get the half-full glass, or the one dying of thirst? Or will the water be dirtied so nobody gets to drink it? Or will somebody discover a whole new freshwater ocean? 

6. Pick a Lane—Or Don’t

And here's the kicker: most of life operates in superpositions. People, situations, and decisions —they're rarely one thing. They're potentially many things, shaped by what we know, when we know it, and how we choose to interpret it. Everyone wants you to pick a truth; be a rebel, and choose nothing (and that’s what I want you to do, so if you do that, you’ll be under my instructions, and if you don’t, then someone else’s—it’s a paradox!). Truth is a political weapon. 

7. Liberation from Truth

With so many problems with subjectivity, nothing can ever be known. 

Let go. Not of curiosity, not of critical thought, but of the illusion that you’ll ever arrive at “the truth.”

Truth is not a destination; it is a journey we have willingly or unwillingly embarked on, and there is going to be no fixed destination to this. Tear up the map. Burn the compass. Float and enjoy while it lasts. 

Tear up the map. Burn the compass. Float.

You are not an optimist or a pessimist. You are the glass. You are the water. You are the one asking the question. You are half-empty and half-full.

To understand Iran today is to understand grief and grit, rage and resilience. People have lost friends. Mothers have lost children. Entire communities carry the trauma of loss, injury, and disappearance. Yet they march again. They sing again. They call for justice with voices cracked from tear gas and whips. It is important that the world, but most importantly, global citizens and not just the policy and peace-makers, look at the conditions in Iran and learn their lessons, to say the least. Because what is happening to Iran is not exclusive to Iran; it is the same story everywhere: poverty, inflation, starvation, women being murdered. It’s the same picture, just in different colors.

You can always choose to ignore these things, but then what? What happens when the same wave that crashed their country now crashes yours? This is solely what history tries to do, each the lessons of time so they are not repeated.

WOMEN LIFE FREEDOM

Until the 21st century, Iranian women fought not just for dignity, but for the simple right to exist on their own terms when their global counterparts were leading and representing nations. For a time before 1979, women in Iran had won surprising freedoms: educational opportunities, voting rights, and relative personal autonomy compared to many neighboring societies. But as the Islamic Republic entrenched itself, women were pushed into a narrower public role. Dress codes tightened, civil liberties shrunk to practically none, and policing of women’s bodies became a state priority.

Once a Revolution, Always in Motion