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By:

Anil D. Salve

21 March 2026 at 8:11:09 pm

A Drought of Wisdom in an Ocean of Information

We live in an age where information is everywhere. With a single click, we can access news from across the world, thousands of opinions, countless videos and endless claims. Knowledge has never been so accessible. Yet, in this overwhelming flow of information, something increasingly scarce is discernment-the ability to distinguish what deserves our belief from what deserves our doubt. Information and knowledge are not the same. Reading, watching or hearing something does not automatically...

A Drought of Wisdom in an Ocean of Information

We live in an age where information is everywhere. With a single click, we can access news from across the world, thousands of opinions, countless videos and endless claims. Knowledge has never been so accessible. Yet, in this overwhelming flow of information, something increasingly scarce is discernment-the ability to distinguish what deserves our belief from what deserves our doubt. Information and knowledge are not the same. Reading, watching or hearing something does not automatically make it true. We need the ability to verify information, understand its context, recognise its purpose and only then form an opinion. In the digital age, this ability has become one of the most important forms of wisdom. Social media has transformed the way information travels. WhatsApp, Instagram, Facebook and other platforms have made communication faster, wider and more accessible. But the same speed that connects society can also overwhelm it. Information often reaches us before facts do. A headline is read before the full story. A short video is watched without knowing what happened before or after it. A photograph is circulated without its original context. A message arrives with the familiar words, “Forwarded as received,” and within minutes it may reach thousands of people. By the time the truth catches up, the rumour may already have done its work. The problem becomes even more serious when misinformation is deliberately created and circulated. Rumours may be planted not merely to mislead individuals but to divert public attention from an important issue, create suspicion, damage someone's reputation or push society towards a particular narrative. A distraction does not always need to be completely false. Sometimes a small piece of truth is mixed with exaggeration, selective facts or emotional language. The result can be more powerful than an outright lie because it appears believable. This is how narratives are manufactured. Social media platforms can become powerful tools in this process. A repeated claim begins to look familiar, and familiarity is often mistaken for truth. A provocative post attracts attention. Thousands of reactions create the impression that “everyone” believes it. One emotional video triggers another, comments intensify the mood, and before facts have an opportunity to speak, public sentiment may have already shifted. This is where mob psychology enters the picture. A society can move from calm to anger, suspicion to trust, or optimism to fear with surprising speed. People who would ordinarily think carefully may react differently when they see thousands of others expressing outrage, fear or hostility. The individual begins to follow the crowd, and the crowd begins to reinforce the individual. The danger is not limited to negative emotions. The same mechanism can also be used positively-to mobilise people for social causes, humanitarian assistance, disaster relief, public awareness and community action. Technology itself is neither wise nor foolish. Its impact depends on how information is created, amplified and consumed. The greatest danger, therefore, is not that we have too much information. It is that we may lose the habit of thinking while consuming it. We are increasingly becoming consumers of information rather than creators of thought. Everyone has access to information today, but access does not necessarily mean understanding. The boundaries between a rumour and a report, an opinion and a fact, popularity and truth are becoming increasingly blurred. A post does not become true because thousands of people have liked it. A video does not become evidence merely because it has gone viral. An opinion does not become a fact because it is expressed confidently. An idea does not become correct simply because it confirms what we already believe. This last point deserves particular attention. We often accept information not because it is accurate, but because it is comfortable. We are naturally attracted to information that confirms our existing beliefs and suspicious of information that challenges them. In the digital world, this tendency can be amplified by algorithms that repeatedly expose us to content similar to what we have already watched, liked or shared. Gradually, we may find ourselves living inside an information bubble where we hear many voices-but mostly voices that agree with us. That is not diversity of information. It is an illusion of certainty. Discernment does not mean doubting everything. It means thinking before believing. It means asking simple but powerful questions: Who is saying this? What is the evidence? What is the context? What may be missing? Who benefits if I believe it? And have I heard the other side? These questions may take only a few seconds, but they can prevent hours, days or even years of misunderstanding. This responsibility is particularly important for the younger generation. Children today are growing up in an environment of unprecedented information exposure. They can encounter more information in a few hours than earlier generations might have encountered in weeks. Therefore, education cannot merely teach students how to collect, remember and reproduce information. It must teach them how to question, verify, analyse and interpret it. A student who can write the correct answer in an examination may be academically successful. But a student who knows how to ask the right question is better prepared for life. The classroom of the future must therefore produce not merely informed students, but thinking citizens. They must learn that forwarding a message is also a form of responsibility. Sharing a post is not an innocent act when it can affect someone's reputation, create public fear or influence social behaviour. The challenge becomes even greater in the age of Artificial Intelligence. AI can generate information, images, audio and video with extraordinary speed and sophistication. The distinction between what is real and what merely appears real may become increasingly difficult. In such a world, human judgment becomes more valuable, not less. Technology can produce an answer in seconds. It cannot automatically tell us whether that answer deserves our trust. Some answers require experience. Some require context. Many require the ability to think independently. We have more information, more technology and more connectivity than any previous generation. Yet our real challenge is to preserve something technology cannot manufacture for us: the capacity to think for ourselves. The ocean of information will only become larger. The question will no longer be, “How much information do we have?” The more important questions will be: What should we accept? What should we question? What should we verify? And what should we reject? No technology can completely answer these questions for us. No number of likes can substitute for evidence. No viral trend can replace judgment. No majority can turn misinformation into truth. That responsibility belongs to human beings. Information can tell us what happened. Discernment helps us understand what it means, why it happened, what may be missing from the story and how we should respond. Perhaps, therefore, the greatest educational challenge of our time is not to teach people how to find more information. They already know how to do that. The greater challenge is to teach them how to pause-to pause before believing, to pause before reacting, to pause before forwarding and to pause before joining the crowd. Because sometimes the most intelligent response to information is not an immediate reaction, but a moment of reflection. The ocean is already around us. It is growing deeper every day. What we need now is not more information to swim through it-but the wisdom to know which direction to take. (The writer is the Principal of Podar International School, Ausa, Latur. Views personal.)

A Meal Without Their Commander: Tribute to Major Satish Dahiya, Shaurya Chakra (Posthumous)

Writer: Brigadier AS Ranade, VSM (Retired)
Brigadier AS Ranade, VSM (Retired)
Aug 6, 2025
4 min read

When passion meets courage, there’s no looking back. Major Satish Dahiya embodied both. His supreme sacrifice on 14 February 2017 reminds us that our nation stands tall on the valour of such heroes.

 

I returned home on a week’s leave from 12–19 February 2017 to be with my family, who had been in "Separated Family Accommodation" in Bengaluru since May 2014, when I left for my operational posting in Jammu & Kashmir. After eight months as a colonel in the remote Pir Panjals, I had been commanding a Rashtriya Rifles sector in North Kashmir since January 2015. Twenty-six months in such a demanding area takes its toll, and even a short break was welcome.


On 14 February, we drove to a bakery to order a cake for our daughter, who was turning nineteen the next day. We planned to collect it on her birthday. Valentine’s Day was incidental, but I was grateful we were together for her special day.


Our sector hadn’t seen success since eliminating three terrorists in early October 2016. We knew they remained active and had twice targeted military convoys in recent months, causing minor damage but evading capture each time. After much deliberation, plans were made to track and neutralise them.


Major Satish Dahiya stood out. After a two-year infantry attachment in North Kashmir and earning a Chief’s Commendation on his first deployment, he returned to 30 Rashtriya Rifles following a peace tenure with the Army Service Corps—now a seasoned campaigner.


Before my break, intelligence was building in Satish’s area thanks to his patient work with human sources. As we headed to the bakery, I got a call that Satish had launched an operation near his base. A second call at the cake shop confirmed the encounter had begun.


My instinct was to buy a ready-made cake instead of ordering for the next day. My wife and daughter, overhearing the calls, sensed something serious and agreed. We then drove home with the cake, stuck in Valentine’s Day traffic. Once home, a third call brought mixed news: Satish Dahiya’s team had killed three terrorists, but he was gravely injured and being evacuated to Srinagar Base Hospital.


A call with the commanding officer confirmed my fears—Satish’s condition was critical. Cutting short my leave was obvious. Within an hour, I booked a flight and informed my General Officer Commanding of my plan to return on the first flight the next morning.


Later that night came the tragic confirmation—Satish had succumbed to his injuries at the Base hospital. He died a hero, leading from the front, planning and executing the operation that eliminated three Pakistani terrorists. A single bullet pierced the gap in his bulletproof vest during a close encounter with two terrorists trying to break the cordon, fatally wounding him. Both terrorists were killed by Satish’s AK-47.


At midnight, we quietly cut our daughter’s birthday cake. My 5 am flight to Delhi meant leaving by 2:30 am. The mood was sombre—none of us slept, and words failed. With mixed emotions, I left for Bengaluru Airport. After a layover in Delhi, I reached Srinagar by 11 am. A delay en route due to an incident slowed military movement, and I reached 30 Rashtriya Rifles just before dusk.


The CO briefed me on the operation, noting that the Corps Commander and GOC had visited earlier. Major Satish Dahiya’s initiative, leadership, and gallantry were repeatedly praised. After an hour at Battalion HQ, we drove 30 minutes to Satish’s Company Operating Base. Night had fallen. The men put on a brave face, but their grief showed.


We reviewed the operation from launch to Satish’s evacuation and the column’s return. The team achieved surprise, setting a close cordon before the terrorists could react. Caught off guard, they tried to break out, firing in two directions. Two charged Satish and his buddy. A brief encounter followed—both terrorists were killed, but Satish was critically wounded. A small mound offered some cover, but it wasn’t enough. He died hours later. The third terrorist was shot by the cordon at the far side of the house.


Satish Dahiya’s men hadn’t rested or eaten since the previous afternoon. I told the senior JCO we’d join them for a meal to remember their commander. We agreed to gather in an hour.


Meanwhile, the CO and I sat quietly in Satish’s room, reflecting on his sacrifice. When we rejoined the men, the usual langar dal, sabzi, and roti felt tasteless—a meal hard to swallow, a loss harder to accept.


A few days later, I visited the encounter site. Standing with the CO at the very spot where Major Satish Dahiya gunned down the terrorists before collapsing, never to rise again, brought a sense of closure. We stood silently, paying tribute to a brave officer who was posthumously awarded the Shaurya Chakra on 15 August 2017.

 

Jai Hind!! Jai Hind Ki Sena!

 

(The writer is an Indian Army veteran and Vice President CRM, ANSEC HR services Ltd. He is a skydiver and a specialist in Security and Risk management. Views personal.)

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