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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.)

Honouring Ancestors: Halloween in America vs Shraddha in India

Writer: Shekhar Upasani
Shekhar Upasani
Jan 11, 2025
3 min read

Updated: Jan 13, 2025

Part Seven

The ‘ghosts’ blindly emulating Western traditions are far more unsettling than the spectral figures of Halloween.

Honouring Ancestors

The world celebrates Halloween on the 31st of October, but I have always pondered: how can it truly be regarded as a festival? In my culture, we have a deeply rooted and rich tradition of honouring our ancestors through various meaningful rituals. For instance, we celebrate Ganpati with immense enthusiasm and vibrant fanfare, and we also observe Pitru Paksha, a sacred fortnight specifically dedicated to paying homage to our forebears. As part of this, we perform Shraddha, a solemn and significant ritual to honour our departed ancestors with the utmost sincerity and reverence. Furthermore, we continue to remember our loved ones through annual, monthly, and tarpan rituals, which hold profound significance in keeping their memories alive.


In contrast, I have observed that in America, England, and Europe, Halloween serves as a time to remember ancestors, albeit in a markedly different and distinct manner. Since relocating to America, I have noticed that malls and shops start preparing for Halloween as early as the very first week of October. People celebrate the occasion with tremendous enthusiasm and excitement throughout the month, decorating their homes and surroundings with eerie, ghostly decorations and hosting elaborate costume parties to mark the festivities.


The way Americans and people around the world commemorate their ancestors during Halloween is undeniably impressive. Everyone, from young children to senior citizens, interacts with the concept of ghosts in various creative and engaging ways. Unlike in India, where there is often an inherent fear of ghosts, and they are typically associated with rural areas, in America, ghosts are everywhere. They are not only part of folklore but also feature prominently in urban settings—appearing in hotels, malls, shops, and even on people’s clothing, such as shirts.


These communities remember their ancestors with remarkable enthusiasm, spending lavishly on lighting, decorations, and festivities, in a manner somewhat akin to how we celebrate Ganpati and Diwali in India. I estimate that Halloween generates an astonishing revenue of around $50 billion to $100 billion annually. Although the festival has been heavily commercialised, I must acknowledge that their marketing strategies are nothing short of remarkable.


In America, there is no fuss surrounding Shraddha rituals, crows, or Pind Daan. Instead, they celebrate Halloween with lively parties, drinks, and revelry, which, in their own unique way, might even help them forge a connection with their ancestors. Unlike the Shraddha rituals in India, there is no overcrowding at sacred sites or pollution of rivers caused by ritualistic practices. I find the concept of Halloween both fascinating and thought-provoking, and I am particularly intrigued by America’s remarkable ability to globalise and market almost any idea with great success.


Halloween has gained significant popularity in India, especially among the younger generation. However, while many Indians embrace Halloween without truly understanding its cultural significance, it is vital to remember that the Western way of life is not inherently superior. Even more concerning is the increasing trend of commercialising festivals and the uncritical adoption of Western traditions, which risks eroding the uniqueness of our cultural heritage.


I must confess that I find the metaphorical “ghosts”—those who unthinkingly emulate Western traditions—far more unsettling than the spectral ones celebrated during Halloween.


Countries like America and those in Europe consistently show appreciation for the contributions, whether small or significant, made by their ancestors. They honour and cherish their predecessors, take immense pride in them, and even, at times, justify the wrongdoings and atrocities committed in the past. In essence, they never disown their ancestors; instead, they remain eternally indebted to them. This mindset extends to their sense of national pride. They are invariably proud of their country and steadfastly loyal, never turning their backs on it.


Whether or not our people choose to celebrate Sarvapitri Amavasya, my concern lies elsewhere. If festivals like Halloween contribute to a diminishing sense of pride and respect for our cultural heritage or foster an attitude of disowning our identity and nation, then, perhaps, I too would prefer to take on the guise of a ghost.


(The author is a director of a company. He has travelled extensively across India and overseas.)

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