Author name: wrku

For centuries, Europe extracted wealth, resources, and human capital from the rest of the world, fueling its industrial revolution and empire-building. Yet, when we look at Europe today, a striking paradox emerges: the very nations that once pillaged the globe now struggle to maintain relevance in an increasingly multipolar world.

Take Britain, for instance. A nation that colonized and drained vast territories, most notably India, now finds itself in economic decline. Economist Utsa Patnaik estimated that Britain owes India $45 trillion in reparations for its colonial loot. To put that in perspective, Britain’s entire GDP today is barely $3.3 trillion. If it were to repay what it stole, it would cease to exist as an economic entity.

This reveals an uncomfortable truth—Britain (and much of Europe) was never truly “rich.” It was merely propped up by theft, and without its empire, its actual productive capacity was weak. The empire was its lifeline. When the empire crumbled, so did Britain’s status.

The Myth of European Innovation

There’s a persistent myth that Europe’s wealth came from its own ingenuity. But history tells us otherwise. The industrial revolution was fueled by stolen cotton from India, enslaved labor in the Americas, and free-flowing capital extracted from colonies. London and Paris thrived because the world paid the price. When that supply chain of exploitation was cut off, these economies began to stagnate.

Compare this to Asia. China and India were once among the world’s richest economies before colonization. Now, freed from European plunder, they are rising again, not through conquest but through productivity. Meanwhile, Europe, which had centuries of stolen advantage, now clings to relevance with outdated institutions like the EU, internal economic crises, and declining global influence.

The True Cost of Colonization

Colonization wasn’t just about looting wealth—it also destroyed economic structures in the colonized nations, making them dependent and delaying their natural growth. India, for example, had a 25% share of global GDP before British rule. By the time the British left, it was reduced to less than 3%.

But what did Britain do with this stolen wealth? It squandered it. Instead of building a sustainable economy, it created a rentier system—living off past gains without producing new ones. Today, its industries are weak, its politics is fractured, and its economy is floundering.

Europe’s Future: A Declining Power

As Asia, Africa, and Latin America reclaim their agency, Europe faces a harsh reality—it is no longer the center of the world. It doesn’t have the colonies to sustain its illusion of wealth anymore. It lacks the productive power to compete with rising economies.

The European model—built on extraction rather than creation—has run its course. Without the ability to loot, Europe has little left to offer. The debt it owes the world is greater than the wealth it possesses. And that is why, in a truly global accounting, Europe is a net loss.

In India, the milk you drink might not be milk.

It could be detergent. Or shampoo. Or urea. Or a little bit of all three.

The paneer in your sabzi? It might be made from refined oil and synthetic chemicals. The spices in your kitchen? Laced with artificial colors and lead salts. The tea leaves? Burnt leather shavings. The ice cream on a hot day? Made with industrial starch. The sweets at festivals? Adulterated with washing powder.

This isn’t an exaggeration. It’s the market.

And it doesn’t stop at food.

Fake medicines are sold freely—expired pills repackaged, life-saving drugs replaced with chalk powder. In any sane country, this would be a crime worthy of capital punishment. Here, it’s just another day in business.

And then, the army was sold fake coffins.

Think about that. A country where even death isn’t spared. Where the most sacred, the most sensitive, the most irreplaceable is up for fraud. What chance does the rest have?

Hygiene? Not even a discussion. Rotten meat, rebranded and sold fresh. Open drains, next to street food stalls. Water mixed with sewage, running through the city’s veins. A fly in your food is not a sign of negligence, it’s a sign of affordability—after all, the cleaner places charge more.

And if someone does check? A bribe here, a favor there. The problem disappears.

Road safety? We build highways without barriers, intersections without signals, roads that flood at the first sign of rain. The seatbelt is optional, the helmet is for show, the traffic lights are mere suggestions.

Industrial safety? Gas leaks. Factory fires. Workers suffocated, crushed, burned. And when a building collapses, the rescue effort is a race against corruption as much as it is against time.

Labour laws? The richest in the country tell you to work 90-hour weeks. The poorest are forced to work without rights, without rest, without dignity.

The milk is not milk.

The medicine is not medicine.

The food is not food.

The rules exist—but only as long as no one pays to make them disappear.

There are people who have won the game of life—or at least, the version they chose to play. Wealth, recognition, influence. They built their world meticulously, insulating themselves with tailored experiences, curated relationships, and an unspoken understanding that reality, as most know it, is optional for them.

And then, every once in a while, something breaks through.

Maybe it happens on a spontaneous walk through an old neighborhood. Or at a roadside stall where they stop, just for a moment, to taste something made without pretense. Or in a conversation with someone who has nothing to sell, nothing to prove—just a life that, despite its lack of polish, seems oddly… full. A life where the kids spend time with the parent bcause they want to, a life where they go where they please, have no attachments holding them back from moving base, can connect deeply with strangers without an inherent suspicion of them. 

For a fleeting second, they see it. The alternate path.

A life that wasn’t optimized for net worth, but for richness of a different kind. One where laughter doesn’t cost a fortune, where stress isn’t manufactured, where joy isn’t an accessory to be displayed but a natural state of being.

And then—almost immediately—the thought dissolves.

The pull of their world is strong, too strong. There are schedules to keep, assets to manage, investments to track. There’s an identity to uphold, one that doesn’t allow for such sentimental musings. And so, they slip seamlessly back into their carefully constructed reality, the moment of clarity filed away as an odd but forgettable detour.

Because the problem with seeing outside the bubble—just for a moment—is that it makes staying inside it feel just a little less real.

The fruit seller outside your building is not just a vendor. He is a master strategist, a risk-taker, an economist, and an endurance athlete—all rolled into one.

Before the city wakes up, he’s at the Mandi, navigating the chaotic ecosystem of middlemen, buyers, and wholesalers. It’s a high-stakes game. Buy too little, and he loses customers. Buy too much, and half his produce rots in the sun. He has no storage. No fallback. He bets on instinct and years of experience.

Then comes logistics. Unlike a fancy startup with VC money and a fleet of delivery trucks, his supply chain is a single wooden cart, maneuvered through potholes and relentless traffic. No GPS, no CRM, no AI-powered demand prediction. Just muscle memory and intuition honed over decades.

And then, the real battle begins—the society gates.

The same people who don’t blink before paying ₹3,000 for a movie date at PVR, or ₹450 for a salad at a fancy café, will argue over ₹2 with him. They will demand free dhaniya (coriander) as a right, inspect every fruit like a forensic scientist, and then tell him that online grocery stores offer a better deal.

He smiles. He bargains. He absorbs the indignity. Because he knows that while they discuss his pricing, they are sipping artisanal coffee that costs more than a day’s worth of his earnings.

Why does he do it?

Because he is an entrepreneur in the rawest form.

• He understands supply and demand better than most MBA grads.
• He adjusts his pricing dynamically, something businesses spend crores on in consulting fees.
• He manages perishable inventory with zero wastage, a feat most retailers still struggle with.
• He has no brand, no marketing budget, no tech, but he has customer loyalty.

And yet, the world sees him as just a vendor.

But if resilience, adaptation, and real-time business acumen define entrepreneurship—then cart vendors in India are the original entrepreneurs, long before startups and buzzwords existed.

Next time you see him, don’t haggle. Pay the extra ₹5. Take the dhaniya with gratitude. Because you are not just paying for vegetables—you are paying respect to a system that has survived despite all odds.

Most websites today are obsessed with knowing everything about their visitors. How many people came? Where did they come from? How long did they stay? What did they click on? Analytics tools promise insights, growth, and optimization. But what if you just… didn’t track anything?

What Happens When You Remove Analytics?

At first, it feels unsettling. There’s a sense of control in knowing your numbers, and letting go of that can feel like flying blind. But then, something shifts. Your blog becomes a place, not a machine. A space for words to exist without constantly being measured.

The Benefits

Pure Privacy – Your readers get a clean, private experience. No cookies, no scripts, no surveillance.

Speed – Your site loads faster. No analytics means no extra requests slowing it down.

Less Mental Noise – You stop obsessing over traffic spikes and dips. The pressure to optimize fades.

No Compliance Headaches – No need to worry about GDPR, CCPA, cookie banners, or privacy policies.

The Trade-offs

You Don’t Know Who’s Reading – No pageviews, no location data, no engagement metrics. Just silence.

No Feedback Loops – If a post resonates, you’ll only know if someone tells you directly.

No Error Tracking – You might not notice broken links or pages unless a reader reports them.

So, Why Do It?

Because not everything needs to be measured. Not every blog needs to be a content funnel, a conversion machine, or a data-driven growth experiment. Some writing is just… writing.

A Middle Path

If you still want a sense of what’s happening without tracking users, here are some alternatives:

> Server Logs – Your hosting provider likely keeps raw access logs, which give basic visit data without invasive tracking.

> Privacy-first Analytics – Tools like Plausible or Fathom offer lightweight, cookieless analytics.

> Direct Engagement – Encourage emails, comments, and discussions instead of tracking passive views.

The Real Question

Do you write to be read, or do you write to be measured? If it’s the former, maybe you don’t need analytics at all. Let the words stand on their own. If they matter, people will find them. And if they don’t, no amount of tracking will change that.

Driving in India is an exercise in constant short-term attention. A vehicle might suddenly cut across your path, a pedestrian could appear out of nowhere, and, of course, a cow might decide to take a nap in the middle of the road. Every few seconds, a new variable emerges, demanding immediate reaction. But paradoxically, long-term attention is almost unnecessary—there’s no real need to anticipate a lane merging a kilometer ahead because no one follows a structured merging system anyway. You drive moment-to-moment, adjusting in real time.

Now compare this to driving in the West—say, Europe or the U.S. The process of merging into another lane begins far in advance. Signs appear well before the turn, road markings guide you smoothly, and fellow drivers expect you to signal and merge predictably. Here, driving demands a constant long-term focus—thinking ahead, anticipating movements, following a system. There’s little immediate chaos, but a lack of long-term attention can be dangerous.

This fundamental difference in driving mirrors a much deeper reality—how societies think.

Short-Term Thinking in India

Indian systems—whether in business, politics, or governance—operate like our roads: reactive, adaptive, and driven by short-term necessities.

• Employment: Most jobs are seen as transactional, with little focus on long-term career growth. Employees chase salary bumps rather than skill-building. Employers optimize for immediate gains rather than investing in talent.
• Government Policies: Policies change with election cycles, aiming for instant public approval rather than sustainable impact. Infrastructure projects stall midway, and band-aid solutions are preferred over foundational change.
• Business and Economy: Companies prioritize quarterly profits over long-term brand building. Startups rush for quick exits rather than sustainable scaling. Even in agriculture, farmers switch crops based on last season’s market prices rather than soil health or long-term yield.

Long-Term Thinking in the West

Western cultures, like their driving systems, are structured around long-term planning.

• Employment: Employees expect long-term career progression. Companies invest in upskilling their workforce.
• Governance: Policies are designed with a horizon of decades. Infrastructure is built with durability in mind. Urban planning considers future expansion rather than just present needs.
• Business Strategy: Companies invest in research and development, branding, and market positioning with a 10–20-year vision. Family businesses survive across generations rather than selling out at the first opportunity.

The Cost of Short-Termism

The result? India is always hustling but rarely building. We excel at quick adaptations—like our jugaad mindset—but we struggle with creating robust, long-lasting systems. Roads are repaired only when potholes become unbearable. Education is pursued for marks, not knowledge. Political leaders rarely make hard decisions because the rewards won’t be visible within their tenure.

Meanwhile, nations that embrace long-term thinking slowly but steadily build reliable infrastructure, stable institutions, and social security nets that last.

Can We Shift Gears?

There is no inherent flaw in short-term adaptation—it’s why India thrives in unpredictability. But at some point, we need to switch lanes. We need to balance our agility with vision, our improvisation with planning.

The next time you’re stuck behind a cow or dodging a rogue auto-rickshaw, think about this: is our nation driving itself forward, or are we just honking our way through the present?