From the breezy ferry crossing over Cook Strait to sipping Sauvignon Blanc in a sun-drenched vineyard, our final days in New Zealand were an ode to quiet charm, coastal beauty, and surprising encounters. Dolphins, Blue Crayfish, and the gentle resilience of Christchurch—this last leg gave us a sense of what it truly means to journey, not just travel
As our journey across New Zealand’s North Island drew to a close, a sense of calm anticipation took hold. We were about to cross the Cook Strait—nature’s moat dividing the North and South Islands. After breakfast, we boarded the ferry at Wellington, following the well-worn advice to keep our eyes peeled for the scenic spectacle of Marlborough Sounds.
The Cook Strait has a reputation for being dramatic, both in its swells and its views. Ours was thankfully a smooth crossing, the deck wind-swept but tolerable—as long as you held tightly to your cap. While no seals or orcas showed up to greet us, a joyful surprise awaited mid-journey: a school of dolphins, dancing alongside our ferry near the starboard bow. It was a moment that felt choreographed by the sea itself.
Crossing Cook’s strait
The ferry eventually pulled into Picton, a sleepy harbor town where time seems to slow down. After our coach rolled off the ship’s lower deck, we headed into Blenheim, nestled at the heart of Marlborough—New Zealand’s most renowned wine region. As wine writer Michael Cooper once noted, “The Sauvignon Blancs here speak with piercing clarity and freshness, as if the land itself had whispered the recipe” (Wine NZ Magazine, 2022). Our lunch at a vineyard, paired with one of these signature whites, was a perfect blend of terroir and tranquility.
Marlborough region
Post lunch, the drive to Nelson was comfortably uneventful. Known as New Zealand’s sunshine capital, the town lived up to its name. Bathed in golden light, its leafy streets invited slow, deliberate exploration. We took a detour to the Abel Tasman National Park, where aquamarine coves and golden beaches teased us with just a glimpse of their natural magic. Later, a short cab ride took us on the Prince’s Drive, a winding hill route offering panoramic ocean views. It was one of those rare moments when the vastness of the ocean made one feel wonderfully small.
Abel Tasman National Park
From Nelson, our coastal drive traced the edge of the South Island’s spine. The Kaikoura stretch was especially dramatic—dark cliffs tumbling into turquoise waters. We stopped here, as one must, to try the region’s famed Blue Crayfish. Served fresh and simply, it needed little more than a squeeze of lemon. As travel writer Brook Sabin put it in a Stuff NZ feature, “Kaikoura offers a kind of wild luxury—the bounty of the sea framed by snow-capped peaks.”
Kaikoura
The inland leg to Canterbury gave us rolling pastures, distant alpine backdrops, and a lingering sense of serenity. Finally, we arrived in Christchurch, a city still tender from its past, yet confidently looking ahead. Much of it felt brand new, and understandably so—years after the 2011 earthquake, which damaged more than 80% of the central city.
Christchurch Tram Tour
But there was pride in the restoration, and even more in the spirit of the people. We hopped onto the Christchurch Tram Tour, a delightful old-world loop through a new-age city. Glassy riverbanks, modern architecture, and gentle storytelling from the conductor made it feel like a living museum, still writing its narrative.
Christchurch
And then, just like that, it was time to leave.
At Christchurch Airport, waiting to board our flight home, we reflected on what had made this journey special. Not just the landscapes—though they are indeed epic. Not just the food or wine or wildlife. It was the rhythm of New Zealand: slow when it needs to be, stirring when you least expect it.
New Zealand doesn’t just show you its beauty. It reveals it, bit by bit. Like its shifting light, it rewards those who take the time to look closely.
We departed with tired feet, happy hearts, and the quiet promise that someday, we would return.
References
Cooper, Michael. “Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc: Still Leading the Way.” Wine NZ Magazine, 2022.
Sabin, Brook. “Kaikoura’s Wild Luxury: Where the Sea Meets the Snow.” Stuff.co.nz, 2021.
Tourism New Zealand. “Christchurch Rebuild: Resilience and Renewal.” newzealand.com, 2023.
In an age of selective hearing, understanding whose voices are ignored—and whose are feared—reveals the deeper politics of power and truth.
Abstract
In a world overflowing with voices, some are never heard. Some are never allowed to speak. This article explores the crucial difference between those who are voiceless and those who are deliberately silenced. One group is ignored, the other is feared. Understanding this difference helps us see the mechanics of power, injustice, and the politics of listening in today’s world. As Noam Chomsky famously said, “The smart way to keep people passive and obedient is to strictly limit the spectrum of acceptable opinion, but allow very lively debate within that spectrum.”
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The idea of this piece came to me when in a social media group discussion about the unevenness of spiritual access in India based on class, caste and privilege, someone quoted author Arundhati Roy’s quote that “There’s really no such thing as the ‘voiceless’. There are only the deliberately silenced, or the preferably unheard.”
The more I thought about what Arundhati had opined, the more I sensed that she had lumped two discrete aspects of our society into one.
What is being Voiceless?
I recall the first few days of India’s response to the COVID – 19 pandemic and the lockdown that ensued. When the country literally shut down with just four hours’ notice, millions of workers—daily wage earners, domestic helpers, factory hands—were stranded without transport, money, or food. With no options available and with little support, around 40 million workers began walking hundreds of kilometres back to their villages. What came to be known as the great migrant crisis of the pandemic.
The workers weren’t silent, in fact far from it. They shared stories, walked in mass protests, called journalists. But their pain barely entered the official narrative. The crisis was, for a time, treated like an unfortunate footnote in a larger national story.
Migrant workers during pandemic
“The working class was not just unseen—they were not considered,” wrote Harsh Mander in The Indian Express. “It was a failure of both empathy and accountability.”
These were people whose voices weren’t suppressed, but simply didn’t count. That’s what it means to be voiceless.
As sociologist Michael Schudson put it, “Communication is a resource distributed as unequally as income or education.” Some voices simply don’t travel—not because they’re weak, but because the world refuses to hear them. This is indeed ironic in an age in which speaking up in fact has never been easier. Through the universal access to tweets, videos, blogs, and platforms are everywhere. But being heard? That’s something else entirely.
Being voiceless doesn’t mean someone has nothing to say. It means that what they say doesn’t register. Their stories don’t make the news. Their ideas don’t get invited to conferences. Their lives rarely shape policy decisions. They live in the blind spots of our systems. One of the main aspects which makes our society unequal.
Now let’s look at the aspect of those who Are the Silenced?
In 2017, the gruesome assassination of Gauri Lankesh hit the headlines in India. A fearless journalist and activist, Lankesh had been a sharp critic of communal violence, right-wing extremism, and state-sponsored misinformation. Her Kannada weekly, Gauri Lankesh Patrike, became a platform for truth-telling and resistance.
Gauri was shot dead outside her home in Bengaluru, her murder was not random—it was a warning.
Gauri Lankesh assassination
As journalist Rana Ayyub wrote: “Gauri’s crime was that she refused to be quiet.”
Gauri Lankesh had a platform. She was being heard. And that is exactly why she was targeted. She wasn’t voiceless. She was silenced because her voice made those in power uncomfortable. To those in power, Gauri’s voice had become too powerful; her words shone light on dark places, threatened the status quo, exposed inconvenient truths.
A recent report by the Committee to Protect Journalists ( CPJ) noted that a record number of journalists were jailed in 2022—not for false reporting, but for exposing the truth. As the CPJ observed: “Censorship is no longer enough; silencing must be enforced.”
Can we now see the intrinsic difference between those who are voiceless, and those who are deliberately silenced? Some people, no matter how loudly they speak, never seem to matter. Others are quickly shut down because what they say matters too much. The first are ignored. The second are suppressed. And both are symptoms of a far deeper crisis of listening in our times.
Why the Difference Matters
At first glance, both the voiceless and the silenced seem to suffer the same fate: not being heard. But the reasons behind their invisibility are fundamentally different.
The voiceless are ignored because they’re deemed irrelevant.
The silenced are suppressed because they’re considered dangerous.
One is a symptom of systemic neglect. The other, of deliberate fear.
Understanding this distinction is vital. It helps us recognize the difference between absence and erasure, between invisibility and targeting.
The Role of Selective Listening
Today, listening has become selective and often algorithmic. Digital platforms and connectivities are amplifying outrage, repetition, and ideology—not complexity, dissent, or nuance. In such a space, it’s easy for the voiceless to disappear into the margins, and for the silenced to be made invisible through force or discrediting.
We need to recognize that the difference between the voiceless and the silenced also changes how we respond. We might decide to support in the following manner.
The voiceless need amplification. Their stories must be brought to the centre. This would require better representation, inclusive platforms, and ethical journalism.
The silenced need protection. They must be defended by laws, by solidarity, and by public pressure. Their speech is often a warning bell the rest of us ignore at our own peril.
Both are vital to a functioning democracy. But only one—the silenced—reminds us that truth still threatens power.
In musing……. Shakti Ghosal
References
Schudson, Michael. The Sociology of News. W. W. Norton & Company, 2000.
Committee to Protect Journalists. Record Number of Journalists Jailed Worldwide. CPJ, 2022. https://cpj.org/reports/2022
Chomsky, Noam. Media Control: The Spectacular Achievements of Propaganda. Seven Stories Press, 1997.
Mander, Harsh. “Locked Down and Left Behind.” The Indian Express, May 2020.
Ayyub, Rana. “Gauri Lankesh’s Murder Was Not an Aberration.” The Washington Post, Sept 2017
From the sun-drenched vineyards of Hawke’s Bay to the Art Deco charms of Napier and the cultured vibes of Wellington, our North Island journey in New Zealand was a heady blend of scenic beauty, fine wine, coastal elegance, and urban character. Here’s a glimpse of three unforgettable days soaking in the essence of Kiwi culture, cuisine, and charm.
Pacific Coastline
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New Zealand often conjures images of snow-capped peaks, sheep-dotted meadows, and fjord-streaked landscapes. But on the North Island’s eastern edge lies a less-trumpeted triad of experiences that seduce the senses in a quieter, more intimate way: the sun-drenched vineyards of Hawke’s Bay, the Art Deco elegance of Napier, and the cosmopolitan charm of Wellington.
We began the day heading toward Hawke’s Bay, a region known for its Mediterranean climate, rich soils, and status as one of New Zealand’s finest wine-producing areas. The road wound through rolling hills and vineyard vistas that stretched out like pages from a postcard. It’s no wonder that Lonely Planet calls Hawke’s Bay “a food and wine lover’s paradise… where long sunny days and fertile plains create the perfect recipe for indulgence.”
Hawke’s Bay
Our stop at Mission Estate Winery—New Zealand’s oldest established winery dating back to 1851—was the highlight of our visit. The elegant colonial-era structure welcomed us like an old friend, and we quickly found ourselves immersed in a world of subtle textures and fragrant bouquets. The Sauvignon Blanc stood out with its crisp minerality, but it was the velvety Syrah that stayed with us long after the last sip. A relaxed lunch followed in a shaded courtyard adorned with trellises, garden blooms, and birdsong. It felt more like a countryside dream than a scheduled stop.
Mission Estate Winery
The next chapter of our journey took us to Napier, a gem of a coastal town shaped by both tragedy and triumph. Rebuilt in the 1930s following a devastating earthquake, the town now proudly showcases one of the most concentrated collections of Art Deco architecture in the world. A stroll down its palm-lined promenade revealed a town wrapped in pastel tones and whimsical curves, as if time itself had taken a gentler turn here.
Art Deco
Condé Nast Traveler once described Napier as “a place where you’ll want to slow down and look up,” and that’s exactly what I did. As I meandered through the town, every façade seemed to carry a story—of resilience, rebirth, and remarkable aesthetic unity. Our hotel, perched with unobstructed views of the Pacific Ocean, felt like a poetic pause in this narrative. The sea, ever restless, offered a calming counterpoint to the symmetry of the streets.
The following morning, we descended further south to Wellington, the capital city nestled between rolling hills and a sparkling harbour. Where Napier wore nostalgia on its sleeve, Wellington was vibrantly alive—a city that fused culture and creativity with surprising sophistication. Its streets, both parallel and sloped, gave it a geometric charm, while cafés spilled out onto sidewalks filled with young creatives, office-goers, and the occasional street performer.
There’s something beautifully paradoxical about Wellington—it’s compact yet buzzing, orderly yet expressive. The Wellington Marina invited us to pause and breathe in the city’s rhythm. Boats bobbed gently in their berths, while locals wandered past us with wind-blown hair and takeaway coffees. No surprise then that the BBC once referred to Wellington as “the coolest little capital in the world.”
Wellington Marina
Dinner was a quiet affair, but we couldn’t resist passing by the city’s political heart—the Beehive, a part of the New Zealand Parliament complexes. The building’s modernist circular form is either intriguing or awkward, depending on your point of view. I found it oddly compelling, a symbol perhaps of the country’s bold architectural spirit, unafraid to provoke a reaction.
As we wound down our day in Wellington, I couldn’t help but reflect on the journey. Each place had offered something distinct: Hawke’s Bay’s pastoral elegance, Napier’s vintage soul, and Wellington’s urban charisma. Yet all were stitched together by a common Kiwi thread—warmth, nature, and quiet sophistication.
In a world where travel often tries to impress through spectacle, this journey stood out for its graceful subtlety. It didn’t shout; it sang.
This article explores the social behavior commonly referred to as “Puppy Dog Wag Tail Syndrome”—where older individuals attempt to gain acceptance from younger social groups through excessive compliance, self-effacement, or mimicry, wagging one’s tail so to say! While this behavior stems from a natural human desire for belonging, it often compromises one’s authenticity and self-respect. Drawing from research in social psychology, this piece delves into the emotional drivers behind such behavior and advocates for embracing authenticity across generational lines.
Have you ever witnessed an elderly individual awkwardly trying to “blend in” with a younger group? Perhaps they crack out-of-place jokes, adopt unfamiliar slang, or seem constantly eager to please — laughing too hard, offering unsolicited help, or nervously seeking approval. This performative effort to fit in, often at the cost of dignity and self-awareness, is what might be called Puppy Dog Syndrome. Much like an over-eager pet desperate for affection, the individual’s behavior becomes centered around pleasing others, often sacrificing self-expression and confidence in the process.
While it may appear superficial on the surface, this behavior is rooted in something deeply human: the need to belong. Social psychologists Roy Baumeister and Mark Leary (1995) identified belongingness as a fundamental human motivation. Regardless of age, people crave connection, approval, and inclusion. Yet, when belonging feels uncertain — especially in cross-generational settings where values, cultural references, and energy levels diverge — the fear of exclusion can drive compensatory behaviors.
Older individuals, particularly in youth-dominated spaces like workplaces, social media platforms, or casual gatherings, may feel a loss of relevance or influence. In such settings, some try to gain favor by imitating youth or subordinating themselves — often unconsciously — in exchange for social acceptance. But the cost of such behavior can be significant. Carl Rogers, the humanistic psychologist, referred to this pattern as living according to “conditions of worth” — behaving in ways that earn external validation rather than expressing one’s true self.
This misalignment can take a psychological toll. A 2006 study by Kernis and Goldman found that chronic inauthenticity is associated with lower self-esteem, increased anxiety, and reduced life satisfaction. It’s a hollow kind of belonging that demands constant performance, rather than one built on mutual respect and individuality.
What’s most tragic about Puppy Dog Syndrome is that it often masks the rich experience, insight, and stability that older individuals have to offer. Rather than chasing youth, they might be better served — and more appreciated — by showing up as their authentic selves, offering perspective rather than parody.
Intergenerational engagement works best not through mimicry but through mutual curiosity and honesty. Younger generations often value authenticity more than they let on. There’s strength in standing tall in one’s own identity, wisdom in speaking with one’s own voice, and grace in not needing to follow the crowd.
In a world obsessed with fitting in, perhaps the most radical act is simply being yourself — fully, unapologetically, and without the need for approval.
References
Baumeister, R. F., & Leary, M. R. (1995). The need to belong: Desire for interpersonal attachments as a fundamental human motivation. Psychological Bulletin, 117(3), 497–529.
Kernis, M. H., & Goldman, B. M. (2006). A multicomponent conceptualization of authenticity: Theory and research. Advances in Experimental Social Psychology, 38, 283–357.
Rogers, C. R. (1959). A theory of therapy, personality and interpersonal relationships as developed in the client-centered framework. In S. Koch (Ed.), Psychology: A Study of a Science, Vol. 3. McGraw-Hill.
Abstract :Volcanoes, Redwoods, Maori traditions, and turquoise waterfalls—our journey through Rotorua, Murupara, and Taupo was like walking through nature’s raw and sacred diary. From the haunting silence of a buried village to the fiery hiss of boiling mud pools, and the warmth of a traditional Maori Hangi—New Zealand never stops surprising. 🌋🌲🌊
We skirted the edge of Lake Rotorua in hopeful anticipation, eyes squinting past the mist, searching for the silhouette of the legendary Mount Tarawera. But nature had other plans. Clouds draped the landscape like a reluctant curtain, denying us a view of the volcano that, in 1886, tore apart an entire region in a violent, unforgettable eruption.
Lake Rotorua
As we moved closer to the remnants of this catastrophe, we reached the Buried Village of Te Wairoa. It was haunting, almost sacred. Buildings lie preserved in ash, stories frozen in time, and silence whispered louder than words. Our guide painted a vivid picture of the night the earth roared—of ash raining down, of craters splitting open, and lives changed forever. According to the Buried Village site, it is “New Zealand’s most visited archaeological site, where stories of resilience and survival rise from the earth.” (Reference 1) And indeed, walking among the ruins, one feels that spirit deeply.
Buried village of Te Wairoa
From volcanic scars, we sought the solace of trees—and what trees they were! The Whakarewarewa Forest, just outside Rotorua, offered a surreal contrast. We wandered under towering Redwoods—some over 100 years old—and marveled at the magnificence of Douglas Firs and the ethereal grace of silver ferns, New Zealand’s national icon. Walking in their shadow, one feels both infinitely small and impossibly privileged. As described by Whakarewarewa Village, this forest is home to “majestic trees from California alongside native species in a uniquely Kiwi blend,” and the harmony between old world and new world flora is breathtaking.
Those Redwoods of Whakarewarewa
Yet Rotorua wasn’t done with its drama. The ground here breathes fire. Boiling mud pools gurgled around us, sending plumes of steam into the crisp morning air. Lakes hissed and steamed as though conversing with ancient gods. The smell of sulphur lingered, sharp and earthy. And yes, the unsettling thought did strike—what if another eruption lay dormant beneath our very feet?
Boiling mudpools of Rotorua
From geothermal energy to spiritual energy, we travelled onward to Lake Aniwhenua in Murupara. Here, the journey took a cultural turn. We were welcomed by the Māori people in a traditional ceremony that blended chants, fierce expressions, and deep respect. Though the language was unfamiliar, the sincerity needed no translation.
Maori temple
The highlight was witnessing the preparation of a traditional Hāngi meal—an earth-oven cooking method that has nourished Māori communities for centuries. Watching the fire-heated stones laid into a pit, food wrapped and buried under earth, felt remarkably similar to the tandoor cooking I’ve seen in North India. Different continents, similar soul food.
Hangi preparation
Later that afternoon at the Māori lodge, as the Hāngi was unveiled and its earthy aroma filled the air, it felt like we were not just eating a meal—we were partaking in a ceremony of memory, tradition, and togetherness. As the village itself puts it, “Whakarewarewa is more than just a village—it is a living legacy of Māori culture and community,” (Reference 2) and every moment we spent there reinforced that truth.
Traditional Maori meal
The final leg of this segment took us to Taupo, but not before a breathtaking interlude at the Huka Falls. The water there doesn’t just fall—it thunders. A hypnotic blue torrent squeezes through a narrow gorge before erupting into a frothy cascade. According to LoveTaupo.com, this “220,000 litres per second of crystal clear water” ( Reference 3) surging through the Waikato River is one of New Zealand’s most visited natural attractions—and for good reason. It’s power and poetry in motion.
The blue torrents of Huka
As we stood watching the falls, droplets misting our faces, I realised New Zealand isn’t just a destination—it’s an emotion. It stirs awe and respect in equal measure. One moment it shows you the fury of nature, and the next, it cradles you in cultural warmth.
And so, this chapter of our journey closed—not with an exclamation, but a deep, quiet breath of gratitude.
Away in the lush hills of New Zealand’s North Island, the Waitomo Glowworm Caves offer a breathtaking, almost surreal experience. In this post, we share our unforgettable journey through the glowing underworld—highlighting the ethereal beauty, fascinating geology, and a boat ride that felt like drifting through the galaxy itself.
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It’s not every day that you find yourself in total darkness, floating quietly through a cathedral of stars—underground. But that’s exactly what we experienced at the Waitomo Glowworm Caves, one of New Zealand’s most magical natural wonders.
Waitomo, a small town in the Waikato region, is famous for its network of limestone caves and the tiny bioluminescent creatures that live in them: Arachnocampa luminosa, the native New Zealand glowworm. We visited the brightest of these caves, one that has even played host to the legendary Sir David Attenborough during the filming of one of his BBC documentaries. That fact alone raised our expectations—and the cave delivered in spectacular fashion.
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As we entered the cave, we found ourselves in a world carved over millions of years. Stalactites and stalagmites stood like silent sentinels in a cool, damp chamber. Another part of the system featured truly astonishing limestone formations, some resembling frozen waterfalls, others like delicate curtains suspended in time.
But nothing prepared us for the glowworm grotto.
We stepped quietly onto a small boat, guided by a rope in pitch darkness. There were no torches, no artificial lights—just the sound of gentle water and the soft echo of a distant underground waterfall. Then, as our eyes adjusted, the ceiling of the cave revealed itself: a galaxy of living lights. Thousands upon thousands of glowworms dotted the darkness, shining blue-green like a perfectly clear night sky.
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We sat in awe, heads tilted back, silently gliding through this dreamlike world. The experience was not only visually stunning but oddly humbling. It reminded us of how much wonder still hides inside nature, waiting to be discovered by us.
The boat turned just before the waterfall; the roar of the falling water had become fully audible; then slowly made its way back. It was one of those rare moments where no one spoke, everyone too spellbound to interrupt the magic.
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The Waitomo caves are a powerful reminder of the slow, silent work of nature and the strange beauty of life in the dark. If you’re ever in New Zealand, this is a journey not to be missed.
For those interested in learning more, the official Waitomo Glowworm Caves website offers great insights, and showcases just how enchanting these creatures can be.
Final Tip: Book early and wear warm clothes—it gets chilly underground! Based on out own experience we would recommend you opt for a guided tour to hear more about the fascinating biology and geology of the region.
“The adventure begins at the edge of the Shire — welcome to Hobbiton!”
As long-time admirers of The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit trilogies, visiting the real-life locations where these epic tales were brought to life had always been a dream. So, when we planned our trip to New Zealand, a visit to Hobbiton — the iconic Shire of Frodo and Bilbo Baggins — was a non-negotiable stop. We simply couldn’t leave Middle-earth behind without stepping into its most charming corner.
Hobbiton is nestled in the heart of Matamata, a region of lush pastures and gently rolling hills on New Zealand’s North Island. It was here, in the late 1990s, that director Peter Jackson conducted aerial surveys in search of the perfect location for the Shire. Legend has it that when his team spotted the Alexander family farm, it was love at first sight. The unspoiled beauty of the land — its sweeping meadows, mature trees, and bucolic charm — was exactly what Tolkien had described in his books.
“A view straight out of Tolkien’s imagination — rolling hills dotted with hobbit homes.”
Initially, the Alexanders weren’t too keen on turning part of their farm into a movie set. But with some persuasion (and an undisclosed agreement), they eventually agreed. And so, the world’s most beloved village of hobbits came into being. One delightful piece of trivia we learned during our visit was that Peter Jackson ran out of funds during the initial stages of development. To keep the project going, he approached the New Zealand government, who in turn had the New Zealand Army assist with the early groundwork — an unusual but heartwarming collaboration that helped build movie magic.
Our tour began with a tranquil ride in a golf cart through the countryside. As we crested a hill and caught our first glimpse of the Shire, a wave of excitement washed over us. There they were — the familiar round doors, grassy rooftops, and colorful gardens tucked into the hillsides. Every corner of Hobbiton was bursting with life and detail, from miniature wheelbarrows and rustic lanterns to tiny clotheslines with hobbit-sized laundry flapping in the breeze.
“Every round door tells a story — could this be a baker’s home or a gardener’s cottage?”
We explored the Shire with childlike wonder, moving from one hobbit hole to the next. Each home had its own character and charm — some for bakers, some for fishmongers, each with a story hinted at through props and signs. The stone bridge with its iconic double arches, the waterwheel gently turning by the mill, and the peaceful lake all brought scenes from the films vividly to mind.
“The iconic bridge where Gandalf once rode into the Shire — picture perfect.”
A true highlight was visiting the inside of Frodo Baggins’ house. Walking through the rooms, we could almost imagine him pacing about, deep in thought, the weight of the Ring heavy in his pocket.
“Stepping into Frodo’s world — the journey truly begins here.”
Although we couldn’t go inside Bilbo’s house, Bag End, just seeing it up close — with its iconic green door and lush garden — was magical in itself.
“Bag End in all its glory — the green door that launched an adventure.”
And then came the perfect ending: a visit to the Green Dragon Inn. Stepping inside, we were welcomed by a roaring fire, wooden beams, and the unmistakable coziness of a true hobbit gathering place. We ordered a round of their specially brewed ales and sat by the hearth, sipping slowly and soaking in the atmosphere. It truly felt like we had been transported into Tolkien’s world.
Raising a mug of Hobbit ale at the Green Dragon — a toast to the Shire!”
Our visit to Hobbiton was not just a tour — it was an experience, a nostalgic walk through a world that had enchanted us for years. If you’re ever in New Zealand, take the detour to Matamata. Whether you’re a die-hard fan or just someone who appreciates storytelling, nature, and craftsmanship, the Shire will leave you spellbound.
“One for the memory books — peace, beauty, and a touch of magic.”
“The railway industry, one of the oldest enablers of industrial transformation, now stands on the cusp of another revolution—this time powered by Artificial Intelligence.”
From the steam engines of the 19th century to today’s high-speed trains, railways have been symbols of innovation. Now, as we move deeper into the 21st century, Artificial Intelligence (AI) promises to redefine how rail networks are managed, how trains are operated, and how passengers experience travel.
But like every major transformation, the rise of AI in railway transportation is not without its challenges. The genesis of this article stems from the fact that I started my work life in the Indian Railways Service of Mechanical Engineers nearly half a century back. More recently when I was doing a Wharton Business School program on AI applications, the idea of this piece came to me.
In this article, I have tried to explore the promise, perils, and pathways of integrating AI into one of the most vital sectors of modern infrastructure, particularly for a dense population country like India.
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🚄The Promise: Efficiency, Safety, and Customer Experience
AI does hold considerable potential to make a high-density transportation mode like the Railways smarter, safer, and more responsive. Here are just a few areas where the promise can be seen:
Predictive Maintenance: Machine learning models can analyze vibration, temperature, and operational data to detect potential failures before they occur—reducing costly downtime and enhancing safety.
Predictive maintenance, powered by sensor analytics and machine learning, are reducing unplanned downtime by up to 30% in Germany (Deutsche Bahn). In India, AI-equipped SMART coaches can now monitor vibrations, structural wear, and staff behavior, leading to substantial maintenance savings and enhanced safety.
Optimized Scheduling and Routing: AI can dynamically adjust train schedules based on real-time data—weather, demand, or disruptions—minimizing delays and maximizing throughput.
In dense rail networks like India’s or Japan’s, such precision translates into better asset utilization, optimized route rationalization, and more efficient capacity deployment.
Safety and Reliability: AI enhances safety through real-time monitoring and automated diagnostics. Computer vision systems are today identifying track defects, unauthorized access, and obstacles with over 90% accuracy. AI-powered drones can now inspect tracks and overhead equipment faster than traditional crews, improving both safety and inspection efficiency.
Train operations benefit from AI-assisted driver alertness monitoring and automatic braking recommendations based on track conditions. These advancements reduce human error—still a leading cause of railway incidents.
Passenger Experience and Multimodal Connectivity: In many places, AI-driven chatbots and journey planners have started offering personalized updates, route alternatives, and digital ticketing, improving passenger convenience. Integrating railways with buses, metros, and even micro-mobility options via AI platforms is enabling seamless urban mobility. In megacities, this creates rail-centric multimodal ecosystems where trains form the backbone of transportation.
Smart Ticketing and Crowd Management: With the use of computer vision and behavioural analytics, Railways can monitor crowd flows in stations and adjust boarding strategies in real time, improving passenger experience and safety.
Energy Efficiency: AI-powered driving systems can optimize acceleration and braking, saving energy and reducing emissions—a critical benefit as Railways strive to meet sustainability goals.
Environmental Sustainability: AI can help Railways fine-tune energy use by adjusting acceleration, coasting, and braking in real time, reducing fuel and electricity consumption.
When paired with green innovations like hydrogen-powered trains—such as Germany’s Coradia iLint and the US’s ZEMU—railways can become even more climate-friendly, especially in non-electrified regions
In short, AI can turn data into decisions—at scale and in real time.
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⚠️The Perils: Bias, Job Displacement, and System Vulnerabilities
Yet, for all its promise, AI also brings forth complex challenges that Railway systems must navigate with care. Let us try and understand what these are.
Algorithmic Bias: AI systems are only as unbiased as the data they’re trained on. In Railways, there is a high chance this could lead to unfair prioritization of certain routes or populations. This is because of historical inequities that are embedded in the stored data.
Job Displacement: As AI would continue to automate driving, monitoring, scheduling, maintenance and customer service, several roles would become redundant. While this may lead to job displacement in the short term, it will also create new roles in data science, system integration, and AI governance.
This is where visionary leadership would come in to shift focus and resources relating to reskilling, transitioning and to answer the more fundamental question about the human cost of automation.
High Implementation Costs: AI deployment demands hefty upfront investment in digital infrastructure—sensors, data platforms, training, and cybersecurity. For developing economies like India, justifying these expenses against long-term gains poses a financial and strategic challenge. This is also where a visionary leadership needs to come in.
Cybersecurity Risks and systemic reliability: Risks would surely go up as a more digitized and AI-integrated Railways system would become an attractive target for cyberattacks. A breach in an AI-driven control system could have dangerous and far-reaching consequences.
Reliance on AI systems thus must be balanced with robust fail-safes by strong governance and redundancy protocols.
Public Trust and Ethics: AI in public infrastructure must be transparent and accountable. Otherwise, trust erodes—especially if systems malfunction or make controversial decisions without human oversight.
The above risks underscore the need for careful design, regulation, and human-in-the-loop systems.
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Railways vs Other Transport Modes: A Comparative Snapshot
Factor
Railways (AI-enhanced)
Road Transport
Air Transport
Cost
Low per ton/km for freight
High due to fuel and labor
Highest operational cost
Environmental Impact
Low (electrified or hydrogen)
High (diesel trucks)
Very high (jet fuel)
Convenience
Ideal for dense corridors
Flexible last-mile service
Speed for long distances
Railways, strengthened by AI, would thus remain the most cost-effective and sustainable mode for high-density freight and passenger volumes. Hydrogen trains further extend these advantages to non-electrified routes.
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🧭The Pathways: Navigating the AI Railway Future
So, how can the Railways harness AI’s promise while avoiding its perils? The following thoughts come to mind.
1. Adopt a Human-Centric Approach: AI should always be viewed as an Enabler, not a Replacer of human expertise. Railways systems should ensure the centrality of human judgment, ethics, and oversight; this becomes particularly important in safety-critical functions.
2. Invest in Digital Infrastructure: To unlock AI’s power, the Railway systems would need high-quality data, real-time connectivity, and interoperable platforms. One can well envisage that Digital twins, Edge computing, and IoT-enabled trains would form the backbone of AI-enabled rail networks in the future.
3. Prioritize Ethics and Explainability: AI based decisions need to necessarily be transparent and explainable. Regulators and the Railways need to work together to ensure AI systems meet public standards of fairness, accountability, and non-discrimination.
4. Reskill and Redesign Work: The rise of AI urgently calls for a parallel investment in people—training them to work with AI tools, interpreting machine insights, and contributing to higher-value tasks. Railway jobs and functions need to evolve, not disappear.
5. Collaborate Across Sectors: The Railways need tocollaboratewith the private sector vendors and suppliers, technology companies, and researchers to create standards, protocols, and governance models that ensure responsible innovation.
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🚉Need for a New Era of Railways Leadership
Integrating AI into Railway transportation is not merely a technological shift—it’s a leadership challenge. It requires vision, ethics, inclusiveness, and a commitment to long-term impact.
As Railway systems worldwide experiment with smart stations, autonomous maintenance, and AI-based scheduling, one thing is clear: those who navigate this transformation thoughtfully will shape the future of mobility.
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Future Outlook: Smarter, Cleaner Railways
Over the next 3 to 5 years, we’ll surely witness:
Autonomous train operations with AI-powered dispatch and navigation.
Real-time dynamic pricing to optimize demand and revenue.
Prototypes of hydrogen-electric hybrid locomotives becoming mainstream in Europe, North America, and parts of Asia.
AI-enhanced simulation systems to train staff and emergency responders.
Railways stand at a unique inflection point. From my own early days in the Indian Railway Service of Mechanical Engineers, I’ve seen the disruption from steam to diesel-electric and now to AI and hydrogen. With the right investments, policy frameworks, and workforce strategies, the railways of tomorrow will be not just faster or cleaner—but smarter
Final Thoughts
The train to the future has already left the station. The question is:Are we building the right tracks for it?
If you’re working in transportation, AI, or infrastructure, or remain interested and curious about these domains, I would love to hear your thoughts. How is AI showing up in your work? What opportunities—or concerns—are you seeing? Let’s build the conversation together.
Abstract : This article explores the central thesis of N.S. Lyons’ essay American Strong Gods, which builds on R.R. Reno’s concept of “strong gods” as binding ideals such as faith, nation, and honor. It examines how postwar liberalism’s commitment to the “open society” suppressed these values in favor of individualism and technocracy, resulting in societal fragmentation and spiritual malaise. The piece uses Donald Trump as a live case study to illustrate the re-emergence of these strong gods in contemporary American politics. Trump’s rhetoric and appeal are analyzed not as anomalies, but as expressions of a broader cultural longing for meaning, identity, and collective purpose. The article argues for a thoughtful engagement with these forces, recognizing their potential both to unify and to divide.
In his compelling essay American Strong Gods, political analyst N.S. Lyons offers a powerful reinterpretation of current Western political unrest by turning to the concept of “strong gods,” a term coined by theologian R.R. Reno.
These strong gods refer not to literal deities, but to binding ideals—truth, love, faith, nation, honor, and sacred order—that once gave coherence and meaning to social and political life. Lyons argues that the postwar liberal order, shaped by the traumas of fascism and totalitarianism, deliberately exiled these gods in favor of a more open, pluralistic society. The intention was noble: to prevent the return of dangerous ideologies. But the result has been an increasingly fragmented, disoriented civilization.
Central to Lyons’ argument is the notion that the liberal “open society,” as defined by Karl Popper, required the dismantling of all strong, unifying convictions. Anything that created a firm boundary between in-group and out-group was deemed suspect. Instead, the open society elevated individual autonomy, moral relativism, globalism, and technocratic rationalism as its highest ideals. Institutions of power—academia, media, government—were gradually reoriented to uphold this consensus. Yet, in doing so, the liberal order stripped life of its shared meanings. What was gained in tolerance and material progress was, in many ways, lost in cultural coherence and spiritual purpose.
Lyons does not celebrate the return of strong gods uncritically. He warns that these forces are inherently double-edged. They can animate civilizations, but also destroy them. The strong gods of nationalism and ideological fervor helped fuel the catastrophes of the 20th century. But their total exile has not led to utopia. Instead, it has created a vacuum—one that, Lyons argues, will inevitably be filled. Human beings, he contends, are not content to live in a world governed solely by procedure, expertise, and endless choice. They long for belonging, purpose, and truth.
Donald J. Trump emerges in Lyons’ framework not as a traditional strong man, but as a vessel for these long-suppressed forces. Trump’s rise is better understood not through policy analysis or elite critique, but as a cultural moment—a response to the discontents of the liberal order. His appeal is less about ideology than affect. He offers certainty where others hedge, identity where others abstract, and loyalty where others equivocate. He evokes America as something sacred and embattled. To many, he represents the return of meaning in a world gone gray.
Consider Trump’s core messages: “Make America Great Again,” “America First,” and his persistent framing of political opponents as not just wrong but traitorous. These are not technocratic arguments. They are moral and civilizational appeals. Trump positions himself not as a manager of government, but as a protector of a besieged cultural heritage. His rallies function more like revival meetings than policy seminars. His supporters do not speak of balancing budgets but of restoring lost honor and defending the homeland.
This rhetorical strategy resonates with millions who feel alienated by the culture of liberal managerialism. These are individuals who may have experienced economic decline, social dislocation, or the sense that their values are being mocked or erased by a distant elite. Trump, regardless of his own inconsistencies, channels their desire for rootedness. He gives voice to those who feel their America is vanishing and that they are being asked to applaud its disappearance.
To his critics, this is nothing more than reactionary populism—a dangerous flirtation with authoritarianism. And there is merit to these concerns. Trump’s disregard for institutional norms, embrace of conspiratorial thinking, and polarizing style all raise red flags. But to dismiss his supporters as merely duped or hateful is to miss the larger cultural phenomenon at play. The longing they express is real. And it is not going away.
Lyons warns that strong gods cannot be wished away by elite disdain or technocratic fixes. They are resilient precisely because they speak to enduring human needs: the need for identity, for belonging, for shared meaning. When those needs are unmet by the dominant order, they will re-emerge in new and unpredictable forms. Trump is one such form. There will be others.
The challenge, then, is not how to suppress the strong gods, but how to engage them wisely. Can a society rediscover a shared moral vision without tipping into fanaticism? Can it reintegrate meaning and identity without excluding the other? These are no longer abstract questions. They are the terrain of politics in the twenty-first century.
The return of strong gods does not guarantee renewal. It may bring conflict, as incompatible visions of the good vie for dominance. But it also presents an opportunity. A culture that reclaims conviction, moral seriousness, and a sense of the sacred might rediscover the social bonds it has lost. It might become capable once again of collective purpose.
Trump may not be the prophet of this renewal. His flaws are manifold. But his rise is a symptom of a deeper condition—one that cannot be healed by more of the same managerial neutrality. Lyons’ essay urges us to see this moment not as an aberration, but as a reckoning.
Porto greeted us like an old friend with a tale to tell. Perched on the cliffs of the Douro River, its charming houses, adorned with colorful azulejos, cascaded down towards the water, as if drawn by an invisible thread. Overhead, the majestic Dom Luís I Bridge, an iron marvel designed by a student of Gustave Eiffel, stretched across the river, connecting the historic heart of Porto to Vila Nova de Gaia.
With every step on its cobbled streets, we felt transported to a different era—one where history, literature, and music wove together in an enchanting dance. Had we unknowingly stepped into a storybook town? It certainly felt that way.
A walk through History
Porto’s origins date back to Roman times when it was known as Portus Cale—a name that would eventually shape the very identity of Portugal. The city has seen centuries of maritime explorations, witnessed the rise and fall of empires, and remained resilient through wars and revolutions. Yet, despite its rich past, Porto doesn’t merely live in history; it embraces the present with a dynamic energy that makes it one of Europe’s most captivating destinations.
Wandering through its labyrinth of streets, we stumbled upon grand baroque churches, lively squares, and hidden corners filled with stories. But among all its treasures, one place stood out—Livraria Lello, a bookshop that seemed to pulse with an almost magical energy.
Where Magic and Literature collide
If there was ever a bookstore that felt like it belonged in the world of Harry Potter, Livraria Lello was it. The moment we stepped inside, we were mesmerized. The towering bookshelves, the elaborate wood carvings, and the intricate stained-glass ceiling bathed the room in a golden glow. But the real showstopper? The sweeping crimson staircase—elegant, almost alive, as if it had a mind of its own.
It was easy to see why J.K. Rowling, once an English teacher in Porto, found inspiration here. It is said that the Hogwarts moving staircases were born from this very place. As we traced our fingers along the wooden railings, it wasn’t hard to imagine young witches and wizards bustling about, spellbooks in hand.
Porto’s literary magic doesn’t stop there. Even beyond Rowling’s influence, the city has long been a haven for writers, poets, and dreamers. In many ways, its winding streets, misty evenings, and old-world charm make it the perfect setting for a fantastical tale.
A Sip of Tradition – The World of Port Wine
Leaving behind the world of books, we set off to indulge in another of Porto’s legendary offerings—Port wine. A short walk across the Dom Luís I Bridge took us to Vila Nova de Gaia, home to the centuries-old wine cellars that have made Porto famous.
The sweet, fortified wine that bears the city’s name has been produced here since the 17th century. We toured one of the many historic lodges, where enormous wooden barrels lined the dimly lit cellars, aging gracefully over time. The scent of oak, fruit, and a hint of spice filled the air as we sipped on rich ruby, tawny, and vintage varieties, each one telling a story of the Douro Valley’s sun-drenched vineyards.
The experience was more than just a tasting—it was a journey through time, where ancient traditions met modern refinement. With every sip, we felt a deeper connection to the land and the generations of winemakers who had perfected their craft.
Fado – The Soulful Sound of Portugal
As the sun began to set over Porto, painting the sky in hues of amber and violet, we found ourselves drawn to yet another defining element of Portuguese culture—Fado music.
Fado, meaning fate, is the heart and soul of Portugal’s musical heritage. Rooted in deep emotion, it tells stories of longing, nostalgia, and the bittersweet beauty of life. We entered a small, candlelit Fado house, where a singer, draped in black, took the stage alongside a guitarist.
As the first notes of the Portuguese guitar rang out, a hush fell over the room. Then came the voice—haunting, powerful, and filled with raw emotion. The lyrics spoke of sailors lost at sea, of distant lovers, of dreams that never came true. Though we didn’t understand every word, the melody transcended language, speaking directly to the heart.
It was a moment of pure magic—one that seemed to suspend time. When the final chord faded into silence, there was a collective sigh in the room, as if everyone had just awoken from a dream.
Porto, You have truly cast a Spell
As we strolled back along the riverbank, the twinkling lights reflecting on the Douro’s surface, we couldn’t help but feel enchanted. Porto had given us so much—history, magic, melody, and flavor—all wrapped in its unique charm.
It is a city that whispers tales of the past, yet sings with the vibrancy of the present. A city where Harry Potter’s magic lingers in the air, where every sip of wine is a tribute to centuries of tradition, and where the sound of Fado echoes through the night like a poet’s last verse.
Porto, you have truly cast a spell on us. Until we meet again!
A New Beginning 