Author name: wrku

In the last post, we talked about how we are decision-making machines. Every moment, every turn, every unexpected outcome—it’s all a result of choices made before it.

But here’s the thing: decisions aren’t just isolated events. They’re patterns.

Henry David Thoreau put it best:

“A single footstep will not make a path on the earth, so a single thought will not make a pathway in the mind. To make a deep physical path, we walk again and again. To make a deep mental path, we must think over and over the kind of thoughts we wish to dominate our lives.”

Every habit, every instinct, every default reaction—it’s just a path walked over and over again. The more we choose a thought, an action, or a belief, the deeper that path gets. And the deeper it gets, the harder it is to leave.

But here’s the part we often forget: paths can be broken.

Loki—the trickster, the god of stories—was always trapped in a loop. No matter the universe, no matter the version, failure was his fate. Every Loki was destined to lose.

Until one wasn’t.

In the Loki Season 2 finale, he did something no other version of him had done before—he broke the pattern. He rewrote his fate. He became something bigger than the story that had been written for him.

That’s the real power of understanding our own paths. They aren’t permanent. They aren’t destiny. They are just choices, stacked over time. And the moment we see them for what they are, we can change them.

A single step won’t do it. A single thought won’t rewrite the mind.

But if we walk a new path—again and again—eventually, it becomes the only road we know.

So, the question isn’t just which path are you walking?

It’s when are you going to break the old one and create something new?

Right now, you are here. Reading this.

But why?

Not in the cosmic, fate-driven sense. No, this is simpler. You’re here because of a long sequence of decisions—some small, some significant. You clicked a link, followed a thought, chose to engage. If you weren’t reading this, you’d be somewhere else, doing something else, because of a different set of choices.

Every moment is the output of decisions made before it.

The job you took. The city you live in. The person you texted back (or didn’t). The way you spend your mornings. The way you react to things. Every action creates a ripple that leads here—to this exact second.

Even me writing this. A decision.

It’s easy to forget that we are not just passengers in life but decision-making machines, constantly processing inputs, producing outputs, steering toward an uncertain future shaped entirely by what we choose.

Loki, the god of stories, would understand this game well. In myth, he isn’t just a trickster; he’s a storyteller who nudges events, creates shifts, and plays with possibility. The mischief isn’t in causing chaos—it’s in reminding us that we are always making choices, whether we see it or not.

Every path, every turn, every unexpected moment—it all stems from choice.

And if you ever feel stuck, remember: you got here because of decisions. You can get somewhere else the same way. You are the storyteller, the trickster, the machine. Choose wisely.

Pop open a newsfeed in America and you’ll find another recall—Quaker Oats’ pancake mix (https://www.foxbusiness.com/lifestyle/quaker-oats-recall-updated-most-serious-category-fda-sounds-alarm-pancake-mix), the classic cereal, or maybe a fresh produce scare. Tune in to Europe, and it’s the horsemeat scandal or a string of E. coli alerts. For all the faults of Western food systems—the reliance on preservatives, synthetic additives, and industrial-scale farming—there’s at least a ritual of owning up. They find something contaminated, they label it a Class I recall, and they pull it from the shelves.

In India, we have a different tradition. When our spices get rejected overseas for containing dangerous chemicals, the story barely registers at home. When synthetic milk is caught in a rare police raid, it’s a local headline for a day—then vanishes. We go back to business as usual. No large-scale advisories, no immediate notifications, no consistent system to warn families what’s at stake.

And so we remain content, cooking our meals, telling ourselves that if it’s good enough for export, surely it’s good enough for domestic consumption. Yet quietly, behind closed doors, experts know the truth: we have a crisis on our hands. And no one is stepping up to ring the alarm bell.

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The Good, the Bad, and the American Recall

Take the recent Quaker Oats pancake mix incident. It’s not the first time Americans have faced a recall. They’ve had everything from romaine lettuce contaminated with E. coli to peanut butter laced with salmonella. Yes, their food can be overly processed. Yes, questionable preservatives sneak into too many products. But at least the U.S. system attempts to inform consumers, with the FDA and CDC playing watchdog in real time.

And then there’s Europe. They survived the horsemeat scandal by conducting rigorous investigations and rolling out stricter supply-chain checks. They regulated, adapted, and tried to restore trust. Imperfect, sure. But not silent.

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Our So-Called “Silent Crisis”

Contrast this with India’s approach. Our wide-ranging traditions revolve around fresh, home-cooked meals, but adulteration is rampant behind the scenes. When a batch of spices is found to contain harmful chemicals, it’s seldom that everyday people get a heads-up. If they’re not safe for export, how safe are they for the rest of us?

During Diwali, every year, a murmur starts: “Watch out for adulterated sweets!” Yet, the fear mostly disappears when the festivities end. If there’s any crackdown, it’s limited, scattered, and often overshadowed by political theatrics. By the time the headlines fade, no real recall or public awareness campaign has taken shape.

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Remember Maggi?

The Maggi noodles controversy in 2015 was supposed to change everything. The product was briefly banned. The media exploded. We thought, maybe now, India will pay attention to the seriousness of food safety.

But the ban didn’t last long. In came a “Swadeshi” version from Patanjali, which had its own question marks. And in no time, Maggi itself was back on the shelves, claiming full compliance. Did the uproar lead to new regulations or a better recall process for other products? Hardly.

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Why This Matters

Food safety isn’t just about politics or corporate profit margins. It’s about what we feed ourselves and our children every single day. When the people tasked with protecting us remain silent, we become unwitting participants in a high-stakes game of trust.

We may not have the daily barrage of recalls, but that doesn’t mean our food is any safer. It might mean we’re ignoring dangers that others won’t tolerate.

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The Way Forward

In an ideal world, the Food Safety and Standards Authority of India (FSSAI) would be given enough teeth to enforce real regulations. We’d see transparent advisories, consistent testing, and the same kind of public accountability that the U.S. and Europe, for all their flaws, rely on to keep consumers informed.

What we need isn’t just another politically charged ban. It’s a systematic, methodical approach—sampling, testing, and, when necessary, recalling. Real consequences for non-compliance. Real data published for public scrutiny. Real faith built in the system.

Because if we continue down this path of quiet acceptance, the cost isn’t just an FDA alert or a lost export contract. It’s our well-being. It’s our trust in the food on our plate. And one day, it may just be our health.

We deserve better than silence. We deserve a system that looks at food safety not as an inconvenience, but as a fundamental promise to its people. Let’s hope we find the courage—and the will—to make that happen.

We have a habit of confusing solutions with symptoms.

More urbanization is not a solution. It is a response to a deeper problem—one we refuse to acknowledge.

The argument is always the same: “We need to create new cities because the old ones are overburdened.” Bengaluru is choking? Let’s carve out new states and build more urban centers. The logic seems sound—until you realize it’s just kicking the can down the road.

A prominent economist recently suggested that splitting large states could lead to the rise of new urban centers. His reasoning? When a new state is formed, a new capital needs to be built, creating instant political and economic focus. The idea isn’t entirely wrong—it has worked before.

But here’s the real question:

Why do we think urbanization is the only path forward?

Bengaluru’s Problem Is Not a Lack of Cities

Bengaluru isn’t struggling because India has too few cities. It’s struggling because it was never designed for the load it’s carrying today.

Roads built for a few lakh vehicles now bear millions. Public transport remains inadequate. Water and air quality decline, while real estate prices push out the very people who power the city.

And yet, the solution being offered isn’t to fix Bengaluru—it’s to build another Bengaluru somewhere else and hope it doesn’t meet the same fate.

Why Do People Leave Their Homes?

Why does a farmer leave his village?
Why does a small-town shopkeeper migrate?

Not because they crave skyscrapers and congestion—but because opportunities have been vacuumed out of where they live.

We create deserts and then complain that people are rushing to the last remaining oasis.

It’s not that villages and small towns are unsustainable. It’s that we’ve let them decay. The rush toward urbanization isn’t happening because people prefer city life—it’s happening because they have no real alternative.

Fix What Exists, Don’t Abandon It

Instead of building more cities, why not focus on making where people already live more viable?

• Decentralized opportunity: Let the work move to people, not the people to work. Tech has made it possible—policy needs to catch up.
• Better governance in cities AND towns: Bengaluru isn’t struggling because it lacks funding—it’s struggling because its management is inefficient. Smaller places don’t even get that chance.
• Infrastructure investment where it’s needed most: Power, water, roads, schools, and hospitals shouldn’t be urban luxuries.

Yes, creating new capitals can redistribute some economic activity. But if the foundation is weak, all we are doing is building taller structures on top of cracks.

India doesn’t need more urban agglomerations. It needs to make life possible outside them.

Because the best cities in the world aren’t the ones people are forced to live in—they’re the ones people choose to stay in.

Think about that.

A crisis is not what trends on Twitter. It is not what dominates TV debates. It is not what fuels the morning outrage at chai stalls. A crisis is what quietly erodes life, shortens breath, and dismantles the future while no one notices.

In 2025, India is a nation obsessed with crises of convenience. The Delhi elections. Religious debates. Political grandstanding. Things that keep us occupied but do not necessarily keep us alive.

And yet, the real crisis—the one that should terrify every single person—goes unnoticed. The air that clogs lungs, the water that carries unseen death, and the food that poisons slowly. Life expectancy is falling. There is no seasonal alert for malaria or typhoid. No mass warnings. No structured public response. We don’t even have the data.

Instead, we bicker about symbols, slogans, and statues. Things that will not make a difference when the lungs collapse under the weight of PM2.5. When the water flowing through taps carries disease. When the food on the plate is laced with chemicals and microplastics.

We argue about elections. About who is in power and who should be. As if oxygen respects party lines. As if an EVM can filter toxins from groundwater. As if voting can purify vegetables soaked in pesticides banned elsewhere in the world.

If the news channels ran hourly updates on how many people are being hospitalized due to air pollution, if every monsoon came with real-time data on malaria outbreaks, if food contamination was reported with the same intensity as celebrity weddings—perhaps we’d care.

But these are slow-moving crises. They don’t scream. They whisper. Until one day, they don’t.

That is how the real crisis wins. By staying silent while we keep shouting.

In India, food is more than sustenance—it’s culture, emotion, and business. From roadside chaat to lavish thalis, food is woven into daily life. Yet, for a country that prides itself on its culinary richness, food hygiene remains a persistent, systemic problem.

Why?

It’s tempting to look at one-off causes—lack of regulation, street food culture, or poverty—but the real answer lies in an interplay of incentives, behaviors, and institutional weaknesses. Let’s break it down.

1. The Illusion of Regulation

The Food Safety and Standards Authority of India (FSSAI) exists, and its regulations are well-documented. Yet, a large percentage of food businesses operate without any oversight. Enforcement is lax, inspections are rare, and bribery can make violations disappear.

For a small food vendor or restaurant, compliance is costly—hygienic practices require money, training, and effort. When the risk of being caught is low and the cost of hygiene is high, the rational choice for many is to cut corners.

This is a classic case of broken incentives: when following the rules is more expensive than ignoring them, people will ignore them.

2. A Culture That Normalizes Risk

Indians love street food. And why not? It’s cheap, delicious, and deeply ingrained in the way we experience food. But there’s an underlying problem: people assume food safety is someone else’s responsibility—either the vendor’s or the government’s.

The reality? Most street vendors:

• Reuse oil repeatedly, creating carcinogens.
• Use untreated water, leading to bacterial contamination.
• Handle money and food interchangeably, transferring germs.

Yet, people eat without question. In fact, a stomach ache after eating golgappas is often dismissed as “just part of the experience.”

This brings us to the perception gap: In countries with stricter hygiene standards, a foodborne illness would cause outrage. In India, it’s shrugged off.

3. Adulteration: When Business Trumps Ethics

Food adulteration in India is an industry in itself. Milk with detergent, artificial colors in sweets, chemical-ripened fruits, synthetic paneer—the list goes on.

Why does this happen?

1. Profit maximization – adulterated food is cheaper to produce.
2. Weak consequences – even when caught, penalties are minimal.
3. Low consumer awareness – many people don’t know what to check for.

When cheating the system is easier than playing fair, businesses will exploit the loopholes.

4. The Water Crisis That No One Talks About

Contaminated water is a silent villain in India’s food hygiene crisis. Many vendors and restaurants use untreated groundwater or municipal water that carries bacteria, heavy metals, and industrial waste.

Even the best-prepared food can be unsafe if the water used to cook or wash it is contaminated. But unlike visibly dirty surroundings, water contamination is invisible—making it a bigger and harder-to-solve problem.

5. The Economy of Cheap Food

Hygiene is expensive.

For a small food vendor:

• Buying fresh ingredients daily increases costs.
• Proper cold storage requires reliable electricity and investment.
• Paying for licenses, inspections, and staff training adds more expenses.

The alternative? Lower quality ingredients, improper storage, and shortcuts in hygiene. When the customer base prioritizes price over quality, vendors respond accordingly.

Cheap food comes at a hidden cost: foodborne diseases. Typhoid, jaundice, diarrhea, and food poisoning are common but preventable—if hygiene were a priority.

6. The Environmental Factor: A Seasonal Disaster

India’s climate plays a role too. The monsoon season creates stagnant water, which becomes a breeding ground for bacteria. Hot summers accelerate food spoilage. Humidity encourages mold and fungal growth.

In many parts of the country, these environmental challenges make hygiene maintenance even harder—especially when businesses lack refrigeration or proper waste disposal.

Fixing the Problem: Is There a Way Forward?

There’s no silver bullet, but some systemic changes can make a difference:

1. Stricter enforcement of FSSAI standards – Surprise inspections and real penalties.
2. Consumer awareness – Teaching people how to identify unhygienic food.
3. Vendor training – Simple hygiene protocols can go a long way.
4. Technology integration – QR codes for food traceability, AI-based monitoring.
5. Better supply chains – Ensuring food is stored and transported safely.
6. Stronger laws on adulteration – Make food fraud a high-risk, low-reward crime.

A Change in Mindset

Most importantly, there needs to be a cultural shift in how food safety is perceived. In India, we often tolerate risk until it becomes personal—until a family member gets food poisoning or a child falls sick.

That’s when hygiene becomes a concern.

But by then, it’s too late.

Until we demand hygiene as a fundamental right, not a privilege, the problem will persist. Because in the end, businesses, governments, and vendors respond to what people accept—not just what laws dictate.

The real question is: How much risk are we willing to keep ignoring?

The term benevolent racism sounds like an oxymoron—how can racism be “benevolent”? But look deeper, and you’ll see it’s a real phenomenon. It’s the kind of racism that wraps itself in the language of protection, guidance, and well-meaning paternalism. It doesn’t announce itself with open hostility but with soft power—rules that claim to be for your own good, structures that insist they know what’s best for you.

It echoes feudalism, where the ruling class justified its dominance by claiming to protect and provide for the peasantry. It wasn’t outright slavery, but it functionally ensured that a select few controlled land, wealth, and opportunity while everyone else remained dependent. Today, this same dynamic is creeping into our digital world under the guise of techno-fascism, where power is centralized under an elite ruling class of technocrats and AI-driven systems that define reality itself.

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Benevolent Racism: Control Disguised as Care

Benevolent racism presents itself as concern for the marginalized rather than explicit discrimination. It operates under the assumption that certain racial or social groups cannot succeed without external intervention. You see it in:

• Corporate DEI Policies – Where companies implement diversity quotas, not out of genuine inclusion, but because they believe certain groups can’t compete on merit alone.
• Censorship for Your Own Good – The idea that some voices should be amplified while others should be suppressed, all in the name of “protecting communities”, but in reality, it decides who gets to shape the narrative.
• Media Narratives – News outlets that claim to stand for equality but treat certain groups as perpetual victims, reinforcing the idea that they must always be rescued rather than empowered.

The common thread? A power structure that presents itself as your savior, deciding what is acceptable thought, action, and even success.

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The Feudal Parallel: The Illusion of Protection

Feudalism worked on a similar principle. Lords claimed they protected their vassals by offering them land and sustenance in exchange for loyalty and obedience. It was framed as a duty of care, but in reality, it was an economic and social trap—one where mobility was almost impossible, and power remained locked in the hands of the few.

• Peasants were given land, but only if they served the interests of the ruling class.
• Rights were granted, but only if they aligned with the interests of the feudal elite.
• The narrative was about stability, but the reality was about control.

This is where techno-fascism enters the picture.

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Techno-Fascism: The Algorithm as the New Overlord

Techno-fascism isn’t about jackboots and military coups. It’s about soft control, using technology as the new feudal order. Instead of knights enforcing the will of the king, we now have algorithms deciding who gets seen, who gets heard, and who gets access to opportunity.

• AI as the Gatekeeper – Whether it’s job applications, social media reach, or financial lending, AI is making the decisions. And these systems are built by an elite who decide the “correct” values to encode into them.
• Corporate Serfdom – Gig economy workers, content creators, and even software developers now live in a digital feudal system, where tech platforms act as lords, dictating terms, extracting value, and changing the rules whenever they want.
• Surveillance as a Safety Net – “We monitor you for your own protection.” Whether it’s social credit scores in China or Western tech firms tracking behavior, the argument is always the same: We know what’s best for you.

Just like feudalism and benevolent racism, techno-fascism thrives on creating dependence. It does not outright enslave—it merely ensures that alternative paths do not exist.

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The Way Out

The antidote is individual agency—breaking out of the structures that define and control opportunity.

• Decentralization – Moving away from centralized platforms that dictate what is acceptable and relying on distributed systems where control is in the hands of individuals.
• Self-Sufficiency – The more dependent we are on corporate systems for survival, the less power we have. Feudalism broke down when people found ways to own and control their own production—the same applies today.
• Questioning Narratives – Benevolent racism, feudalism, and techno-fascism all sell a utopian vision that benefits the ruling class. The only way to resist is to think critically and avoid easy ideological traps.

The biggest lie of all is that this system is for our own good—just as feudalism was “for the peasants,” just as censorship is “for our protection,” and just as AI-driven decision-making is “for efficiency.” The moment we stop accepting that premise, the system loses power.