Freedom with Fairness: My Take on Capitalism, Socialism, and Citizenship

When I think about big political and economic systems like capitalism, socialism, and communism, I often come back to a simple story of two farmers.

• Farmer A grows 10 bags of wheat and has a family of 4.

• Farmer B grows 5 bags of wheat and has a family of 8.

Now the question is: how should their wheat be divided?

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Capitalism

Each farmer keeps what he produces.

• Farmer A keeps 10 bags.

• Farmer B keeps 5 bags.

If Farmer B’s family needs more, he must buy or trade with Farmer A.

Principle: Reward for effort, minimal redistribution.

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Communism

All wheat is pooled together, then shared equally among everyone.

• Total = 10 + 5 = 15 bags.

• Total people = 4 + 8 = 12 people.

• Each person gets 1.25 bags.

→ Farmer A’s family (4 × 1.25) = 5 bags.

→ Farmer B’s family (8 × 1.25) = 10 bags.

Principle: From each according to ability, to each according to need.

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Socialism

Each farmer keeps most of what he earns, but a portion is collected and redistributed for fairness.

• Farmer A contributes 3 bags to a community pool and keeps 7 bags.

• Farmer B contributes 1 bag and keeps 4 bags.

• The pooled 4 bags are redistributed to help larger or struggling families.

After redistribution, Farmer A ends with 7 bags, Farmer B ends with 8 bags.

Principle: Balance between fairness and reward.

This story taught me something important: no single system is perfect.

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Why I Lean Toward a Middle Path

Pure capitalism rewards hard work but can leave the vulnerable behind.

Pure communism guarantees equality but kills motivation.

Pure socialism tries to balance the two, but often struggles with efficiency.

So what works best? For me, it’s a capitalist base with socialist safeguards.

That means:

• Yes, Farmer A deserves to enjoy the fruits of his labor.

• But no, Farmer B’s children shouldn’t starve because his harvest was smaller.

• The solution is a system where effort is rewarded but dignity is protected.

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🇨🇦 In Canada: I Support Conservatives

In Canada, I lean toward the Conservatives. Not because I want to abandon social programs, but because I believe in keeping the capitalist backbone strong while following the socialist tenets of equal distribution of care. Conservatives champion lower taxes, smaller government, and enterprise — but they still protect essentials: universal healthcare, pensions, child benefits.

Here, accountability is also better built into the system. Governments can fall if they lose public trust, and leaders can be questioned and replaced. That keeps both capitalism and fairness in check.

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A Philosophy for Life

To me, politics is not about left or right. It’s about living by a principle:

“Freedom with fairness. Effort with empathy. Power with accountability.”

This extends beyond governments — it’s personal.

• When somebody pays me, I feel accountable to deliver value.

• By the same logic, when citizens pay taxes, the government — which is elected by the people and funded by taxpayers’ money — must be accountable to them.

• Without accountability, freedom and fairness collapse into corruption and exploitation.

In the end, I believe my worldview is simply this:

• Reward effort.

• Protect dignity.

• Demand accountability.

• Avoid extremes.

That, to me, is the true path of a citizen who cares — for family, for community, and for the country.

Most Indians Modern Feudal Mindset

                                                

A nation’s progress is not measured by the number of its skyscrapers, but by the stature of its mind. India has changed its skylines, not its premises. Beneath the glass and steel of its cities lies the same ancient submission — to power, to tribe, to myth. The nation that once produced thinkers capable of abstraction has learned to worship obedience as a virtue and dependence as destiny.

Most of the Indians mindset remains feudal — not because kings still rule, but because men still kneel. Authority is not earned through reason or merit but inherited through position, caste, or wealth. The peasant’s loyalty to his landlord has merely changed form; it now appears as the voter’s devotion to his leader, the employee’s worship of his boss, the citizen’s reverence for the bureaucrat. Individual dignity has been replaced by the need for validation from the powerful.

It is also mythological — not in the poetic sense of imagination, but in the moral sense of evasion. Myths that once served as metaphors for human struggle have become instruments of submission. Instead of learning from the epics, people seek permission from them. Truth is not discovered; it is decreed by tradition. A culture that once asked questions of the cosmos now fears questioning its own customs.

And it is patriarchal, because the idea of freedom still ends at the threshold of the family. The man is ruler by birthright; the woman, subject by decree. Honor replaces morality; control replaces respect. The tribe — whether of blood, caste, or religion — demands loyalty not to values but to its survival. Individual conscience is smothered by the collective’s code.

This, then, is India’s tragedy: it has built a republic on a feudal soul. Its constitution promises liberty; its citizens still crave masters. Its economy speaks of growth; its morality whispers obedience.

Yet somewhere within this vast inertia, a different spirit stirs — men and women who refuse to kneel before birth, title, or god; who seek truth not in scripture but in logic; who measure worth not by faith, but by thought and action.

When such minds rise, India will finally enter modernity — not by importing machines or slogans, but by reclaiming the one idea that made civilization possible: the sanctity of the individual mind. Until then, progress will remain decoration — a palace built on medieval foundations.

Beyond the Isms: Choosing a Life Without Labels

The world craves labels. It loves to tuck us neatly into boxes called “isms.” Nationalism, socialism, feminism, atheism, theism—the list never ends. Each promises clarity, but most deliver cages.

At first, isms seem useful. They compress complexity into a word. But soon the word demands loyalty. To wear the label is to accept its entire baggage, even the parts that don’t belong to you. And before long, the label speaks louder than you do.

Take feminism. I believe in equality—deeply. But equality doesn’t need a manifesto stamped onto it. The moment I wear the “ism,” I inherit the assumptions, conflicts, and agendas of others. My simple belief becomes a banner, a battlefield.

This tension exists in faith, too. I do not believe in any higher being. And yet, I sit with the Vishnu Sahasranamam. I let the voice of M. S. Subbulakshmi or the youthful innocence of Ishaan Pai wash over me, and something within me stirs. Not faith, not surrender—something beyond those words. I love devotion in music, even if I do not subscribe to devotion in doctrine.

So tell me—why must rejecting one ism shove me into its opposite? If I am not a theist, must I be an atheist? If I am not a nationalist, must I be branded anti-national? Must every “no” be misheard as a “yes” to its enemy?

Nietzsche warned: “Convictions are more dangerous enemies of truth than lies.” Jiddu Krishnamurti asked: “When you call yourself an Indian or a Hindu or a Muslim or a Christian… do you see why it is violent? Because you are separating yourself from the rest of mankind.”

Isms divide. They flatten. They demand allegiance when life itself demands fluidity.

Albert Camus once wrote: “I rebel—therefore I exist.” My rebellion is not against gods or nations or traditions. My rebellion is against the demand to choose one box over another.

I exist in between. I exist in the space where music moves me, but belief does not bind me. Where equality matters, but labels don’t own me. Where doubt is not weakness, but freedom.

In the end, I don’t need an ism to define me. Because truth is not found in a label, but in the resonance of things that move us—like the timeless voice of Subbulakshmi, or the tender notes of a child singing Bhaja Govindam or a ‘Kun Faya Kun’.

I am not this. I am not that. I am simply here.

सुकून

ज़िन्दगी भर यही सुनता रहा कि अगले पल में ही सुकून है 

जब मौत दरवाज़े पर खड़ी थी, तब जाना कि मय्यत में ही सुकून है

वक़्त की साज़िश

ज़िन्दगी वक़्त की साज़िश है,

हर खुशी एक कशमकश है,

जो मिला, वो खोने का डर,

जो न मिला, वो पाने की ख्वाहिश है

My Thursday Mornings : Solitude in Motion

There’s something quietly sacred about my Thursday mornings.

I leave the house with a book in hand, my office bag on my back, the air still crisp, the sky unsure of its color. I usually call someone a friend, a loved one, or a familiar voice. The conversation is gentle and unhurried—just enough to carry a little warmth into the morning. The bus arrives with a gentle sigh. There is no urgency, no noise, just motion. When I board the bus, the call ends, and the quiet returns.

The ride is short. A few regulars sit beside me—half-asleep, half elsewhere. It takes me to the Somerset station, where the CTrain is already there, still and waiting, as if it knew I’d be coming. Something is reassuring in that. In a world that rushes ahead, here is something that waits. The CTrain is made by Siemens, the company that I worked for before I moved to Canada. 

I climb aboard and find my usual window seat. I press play on Dan Gibson’s Solitudes, and in a moment, I’m no longer in a train but in a forest—birds calling, streams murmuring, wind weaving through leaves. Nature, held in sound.

I open my book. A short story or a novella is always something that knows how to say much in a few pages. Today, it might be Ruskin Bond, with his quiet hills and lonelier hearts. Or Chekhov, with his truth beneath the ordinary. Or perhaps Maugham, whose sentences carry both wisdom and weariness. Lately, it’s been Fredrik Backman—his tender little worlds where broken people quietly try to be better. I read slowly, letting the words breathe.

Around me, quiet lives unfold. Most passengers read too—thick fantasy novels, crime thrillers, and dog-eared books from a beloved series. A few scroll endlessly on their phones, faces lit by screens. Others lean back, eyes closed, stealing fragments of sleep between stations. Some lean back with eyes shut, mid-dream. But every now and then, something lovely happens. I catch the title of a book a fellow passenger is reading—or they glance at mine—and a conversation blooms, quietly. We exchange names of books, not of people. A woman once handed me the title of a book I’d never heard of. “You’ll like it,” she said, before getting off at Chinook Station. I read her suggested book, and I did like it. And I never saw her again to thank her.

These small interactions—strangers passing through my life just for one ride—leave no names, but sometimes, they leave stories. We are together, yet apart—bound by the rhythm of the tracks and the hush of the hour.

When the train reaches downtown, I step off with the others, scattering like birds from a wire. But before I join the noise of the day, I make one final stop—Tim Hortons, and I order the same thing: A medium French Vanilla, with a quarter dark roast. The warmth of the cup in my hand is like punctuation— closing the gentle chapter of the morning before the day’s paragraphs begin.

A voice. A bus. A train. A tune. A tale. A cup of coffee.

Nationalism vs. Patriotism: A Necessary Distinction

In an era of rising polarisation and identity politics, two words are often thrown around as if they mean the same thing—nationalism and patriotism. But they don’t. In fact, the difference between them may determine whether a society stays free or succumbs to authoritarianism.

 

“A patriot must always be ready to defend his country against his government.”

— Edward Abbey            

 

This quote captures the essence of patriotism—a deep, reasoned love for one’s country that includes the courage to question those in power. A patriot is not a sycophant. A patriot critiques because he cares. He pushes for better because he refuses to settle for less.

 

Nationalism: Loyalty or Leash?

 

Nationalism today often hides behind flags, slogans, and populist rage. It equates government with the nation, so any criticism of those in charge is branded as betrayal.

 

“Nationalism is power hunger tempered by self-deception.”

— George Orwell

 

As per modern nationalism:

• Asking questions is seen as disloyal.
• Dissent is demonised.
• Identity becomes weaponised.

 

Worse, it’s often amplified by a media that has traded its role as a watchdog for that of a cheerleader. Outlets that call themselves “nationalist” frequently behave like echo chambers, parroting the state’s narrative while branding dissenters as anti-national. Once a mirror to power, journalism now acts as a megaphone for propaganda.

 

And that’s precisely why I choose to question it—because unquestioned belief leads to unaccountable power.

  

Patriotism: The Braver Path

 

Patriotism is harder. It’s quieter. It demands introspection. It stands up when it’s easier to stay seated. It believes in the strength of a country to confront its flaws and grow, not hide behind them.

 

“To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.”

— Ralph Waldo Emerson

 

Patriotism is not loud. It doesn’t seek validation through slogans. It seeks truth. It is a challenge for the sake of progress, not for power.

 

A healthy democracy needs patriots, not nationalists.

It needs citizens who ask, not just those who obey.

It needs people who love their country enough to hold its government accountable.

Why I Stay Away from Nationalism

 

I stay away from nationalism not because I lack love for my country, but because I refuse to surrender my mind to blind loyalty.

 

Nationalism, especially in its current form, often demands:

• Obedience over thought
• Emotion over reason
• Conformity over conscience

It equates criticism with betrayal and glorifies power while silencing dissent. Once you’re emotionally invested in such an ideology, it becomes increasingly difficult to separate truth from tribalism.

 

“Beliefs drive thoughts, and thoughts drive actions.”

And when belief becomes dogma, actions inevitably become dangerous.

 

The Road Ahead

 

What once took a century to change now shifts in a year. In this age of accelerating disruption—climate crises, technological upheavals, widening inequality—blind loyalty is a luxury we can no longer afford.

The future demands citizens who think, not just react. It demands:

• Minds that question, not just hearts that cheer.
• Integrity that resists the comfort of conformity.
• A love for country that is courageous, not performative.

 

The survival of democracy depends not on how loudly we chant but on how deeply we care. And patriotism, in its truest form, is not about standing behind the government.

 

It’s about standing up for your country—

Even when it means standing alone.