(Continuation of Chapter 1 — The Lecture at Calcutta University, 1st November 2025)
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Scene: The History Lecture Hall, Calcutta University — Afternoon, November 1, 2025
The hall smells faintly of rain. The morning's lecture had just concluded — a fiery dissection of how Indian democracy had slowly evolved into a dynastic duopoly. But most students stayed back, unwilling to leave. The professor, Dr. Arindam Sen, leaned against his wooden desk, a cup of lukewarm tea beside him, as a group of post-graduates gathered closer.
"Alright," he said, adjusting his glasses, "since you all refuse to leave, let's continue our little rebellion against ignorance. What shall we dissect next?"
A student, Priya Mukherjee, raised her hand.
"Sir, you spoke about political dynasties earlier. But what about something more basic? Why, after seventy-five years of independence — even with all this talk of Digital India and trillion-dollar dreams — my village in East Midnapore still gets four hours of electricity a day?"
The professor smiled sadly. "Ah, Priya, that question is worth more than any budget session in Parliament."
He turned toward the board and wrote three words in bold chalk letters:
'SYSTEMIC ROT'
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1. The Forgotten Villages
"Electricity," he began, "isn't just a wire and a bulb. It's a chain — from generation to transmission to local governance. And each link is rusted by corruption and bureaucracy. See, the IFC officers — Indian Food Corporation, in theory meant to support farmers — have become gatekeepers of exploitation."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the students.
A boy from the back, Ravi, interjected:
"Sir, my father's a small farmer in Burdwan. He grows onions and tomatoes. The middlemen pay him two rupees a kilo, but by the time it reaches Salt Lake, it's fifty. We've been seeing this all our lives."
Dr. Sen nodded. "Exactly. That's the tragedy of modern India — the producer starves, the broker prospers. We built systems where the bureaucrat and the contractor are more powerful than the cultivator or the worker. And the state, rather than dismantling these parasitic intermediaries, feeds them."
He paused, then added quietly, "When Bengal tried to change that — in Singur — politics killed the dream."
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2. The Singur Paradox
A hush fell. Everyone in the room knew Singur — a scar in Bengal's industrial psyche.
Dr. Sen continued, pacing slowly. "In 2006, Singur could've become the beating heart of industrial Bengal again. The Nano plant wasn't just about cars. It was about confidence. But what did we see? The same politics of short-term outrage, vote-bank theatrics, and ideological blackmail. We chose populism over progress."
A student, Soumyajit, frowned. "But sir, wasn't it unfair to farmers too? Many didn't want to give their land."
"Yes," said Dr. Sen, "but leadership means mediation — not agitation. We forgot how to negotiate. We turned development into a battlefield. And once the Tatas left, Bengal's message to the world was clear: 'Don't invest here. Our politics is allergic to prosperity.' But yea, there are few who don't left like emami,titagarh,Exide etc. and there is a chance that same will be repeated in Bihar, like it's new proposed PowerPlant Project"
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3. Assam and the Semiconductor Debate
At this point, Neha, a tech student from Guwahati, spoke up.
"Sir, now they're opposing the semiconductor plant in Assam. The same arguments — 'land', 'environment', 'local displacement'. But don't we need industries if we want jobs?"
Dr. Sen sighed. "Ah, history repeats, not as tragedy this time, but as farce. In 2025, while the world races toward chip sovereignty — Japan, Korea, the U.S., even Vietnam — our opposition still treats industrialization as political poison. They don't realize — semiconductors are not factories. They're sovereignty."
He turned toward the projector, showing a slide:
> 'Silicon is the new steel. Whoever controls chips controls civilization.'
"The Assamese project," he said, "could've made the Northeast the Taiwan of India — balancing ecology and economy. But instead, we see chaos, protests, and court stays. Everyone wants development — just not near their home."
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4. Manipur, Ladakh, and the Myth of Distance
Then came Arjun, a quiet student from Manipur. His voice trembled slightly.
"Sir… we had peace once. But after the violence last year, people stopped trusting the state altogether. How could the government not foresee this? How can we even talk of unity when our neighbors kill each other over administrative lines?"
The professor walked closer, his tone soft.
"Arjun, my boy — you've touched the most painful nerve of this Republic: our inability to manage diversity with dignity.
Manipur's wounds are not local — they're national. We centralized power, thinking unity comes from Delhi. But real unity comes from empathy and justice."
He looked around the hall, letting silence linger.
"And Ladakh?" he continued. "A land of monasteries turned into a frontier garrison. Where monks now debate water scarcity and climate migration. We've militarized peace, and bureaucratized humanity."
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5. The Core Question
Priya leaned forward. "So, sir — after all this, what's the alternative? If neither Congress nor BJP fixed it, who will?"
Dr. Sen smiled again, this time a little bitterly.
"The alternative isn't a party, Priya. It's a mindset. We can't keep electing faces while systems remain the same. Whether it's a Nehru or a Modi, the machinery beneath — the bureaucratic, extractive, colonial core — stays untouched."
He picked up the chalk again, and wrote:
> 'INDIA = A DEMOCRACY WITH A COLONIAL ENGINE.'
Then turned to them:
"The British left the steering wheel, but the engine stayed. And as long as we keep driving this vehicle without replacing that machinery, no matter who sits in the driver's seat — the direction remains the same."
The clock struck 5. The light outside was fading, a soft orange spilling across the corridor.
"Alright," he said, "enough truth for one afternoon. Tomorrow we'll discuss how Indian capitalism survived — how families like Reliance, GMR, Tata, Birla, and Adani learned to dance with politics instead of fighting it. How business became diplomacy, and how democracy became theatre."
He smiled.
"Class dismissed. But remember — the real lecture begins when you step outside."
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End of Prologue 2 — "The Price of Progress"