The Weight of Water

Foreword

Some lives don’t leave bold footprints. They pass like wind through tall grass, bending, brushing, moving, without asking to be remembered. This is a story about such a life.

The Weight of Water is not the tale of a hero in the traditional sense. It is the slow unfolding of a man who gave more than he ever asked for, who lived long in the shadows of other people’s brightness. A man who did not fight for space, yet remained, like stone in the river, shaped, but never swept away.

This tale is also about a journey. Forward. Not toward achievement, but toward understanding. A journey where every step is both a memory and a letting go.

It is about silence. Not emptiness, but fullness without noise.

It is about the quiet nobility of those who carry their pain without spectacle, and offer their kindness without price.

And perhaps, by the end, you might not only know this man, but feel that in some quiet corner of your life, you have already met him.

- Prasanth Ajithkumar

മരുന്ന്

കരയും കടലും കടന്നു പറന്നകന്നെത്തിയ സ്വപ്നത്തിൽ നാട്ടിൽ നിന്നും 

മണ്ണപ്പം ചുട്ടും മഴയിൽ കുളിച്ചും നടന്നൊരു കാലത്തിൻ ഓർമ്മ പുൽകാൻ 

പരദേശവാസിയായ്‌ പലനാൾ കഴിഞ്ഞു മടങ്ങിയെൻ  മണ്ണിൽ ഞാനെത്തിടുമ്പോൾ

മഴത്തുള്ളി പാറ്റുന്ന മണ്ണിൻ മണം ഓർത്തെടുക്കുവാനെന്തു മരുന്നുണ്ണണം?

ഓടിക്കളിച്ചു തിമിർത്തു വരുന്നേരം പൊടിയും വിയർപ്പും തുടയ്ക്കുവാനും

കണ്ണുന്നീരൊപ്പാനും മൂക്ക് പിഴിയാനും ഉണ്ടുകഴുകി കൈ തോർത്തുവാനും 

എന്നും പിടിച്ചൊരെന്നമ്മയുടെ സാരി തൻ തുമ്പിൻ മുഷിപ്പു മണത്തീടുകിൽ 

മൂക്കു ചുളിയ്ക്കാതിരിക്കുവാൻ ഞാനേതു കൊടിയ നാസീകരണമേറ്റിടേണം?

കവലയിൽ പോക്കറ്റു കീറിയൊരു കുപ്പായമിട്ട് ചെറുബീഡി വലിയ്ക്കുന്നൊരാ

മുടി നരച്ചൊരു പടുവൃദ്ധന്റെ പുഞ്ചിരി കണ്ടിതാരാണെന്നു ചിന്തിയ്ക്കയിൽ 

പാടത്തു പണ്ട് കിളയ്ക്കുവാൻ വന്നൊരു മാമനാണെന്ന ബോധം വരുമ്പോൾ

മുഖം തിരിയ്ക്കാതെയിരിയ്ക്കാൻ കഴുത്തിലായ് ഏതു കുഴമ്പ് പുരട്ടീടണം?

രാസവളങ്ങളും ഹോർമോണുമില്ലാതടുക്കള തോട്ടത്തിൽ വിളയുന്നോരാ

നന്മ വിളമ്പും ഫലങ്ങൾ കൊണ്ടത്താഴക്കൂട്ടൊന്നു വാരി കഴിച്ചതിനാൽ    

ഫാസ്ററ് ഫുഡ്ഡും കൊക്കക്കോളയും നന്നായി സേവിച്ചു പെരുകിയോരെൻ വയറിൻ     

ദഹനത്തിനുണ്ടായ കഷ്ടം കടക്കുവാനെന്തു കഷായം കഴിച്ചിടേണം?

നഗരാരവങ്ങളിൽ കാതിൽ തിരുകുന്ന ചെറുതരം കോളാമ്പി മാറ്റിവച്ച് 

പൈക്കളും കാകനും പുള്ളും കിളികളും നായും നരിച്ചീറും പുൽച്ചാടിയും 

പൂവിനെ തഴുകിവരുന്ന ചെറുകാറ്റും മൂളുന്ന പാട്ടിൻ തുടി കേൾക്കവേ 

ചെവിയുടെ കൊട്ടിയടപ്പ് മാറ്റാനിന്നു ഗുളികയെന്തെല്ലാം വിഴുങ്ങീടണം?

കൺമറ കെട്ടിയീ മത്സരയോട്ടത്തിൽ മുമ്പിലോട്ടെന്നും കുതിച്ചീടുവാൻ 

ദേഹത്തിനഴലും തൻ ദേഹിതൻ നിഴലും മറന്നു ജീവിച്ചു ഞാൻ നേടിയോരീ 

മനസ്സിൻ കറുപ്പും തൊലിതൻ വെളുപ്പും തുടച്ചെനിയ്ക്കിന്നു ഞാനായീടുവാൻ 

എളിമതൻ മടിയിലേക്കൊന്നു മടങ്ങുവാനേതു പുനർജനി താണ്ടിടേണം?

 

Virtues? Says who?

I lie and cheat and wear a mask.

I take a shortcut for every task.

I pay no heed to what you ask,

Yet you say, “He means no harm”.

Your ‘Empathy’ is the reason.

I drag justice through dirt and ash,

Spit on your faces and throw some cash

And spend your blood as I blindly slash.

Yet you say, “Who can stop God’s will”?

Your ‘Faith’ is the reason.

You weep behind the classroom door

As I throw your belongings on the floor.

I sharpen the laughter to maim you more.

Yet you keep quiet to keep things quiet.

Your ‘Forgiveness’ is the reason.

You give and give until you have none.

I take and take until you are gone.

Then I move on and seek another one.

Yet you don’t feel bad at this act of theft.

Your ‘Kindness’ is the reason.

I twist and bend the truth to suit my will.

I rewrite history and add to it, my stories, still.

I clothe you with the colours from my mill.

Yet you bite the tongue and choose silence.

Your ‘Tolerance’ is the reason.

I decide what your daughters should do.

To keep them veiled or sent to who?

I break their spirit and tell them when to moo.

Yet all I see is faces turning away all around.

Your ‘Patience’ is the reason.

I employ you and call you a clown.

I pay you peanuts and break you down,

To be my horse who should keep its head down.

Yet you show no signs at all of defiance.

Your ‘Obedience’ is the reason.

You vote for me and give me swords

To hunt and loot from all those hoards.

You know that my words are just words.

Yet you put yourself through this time and again.

Your ‘Hope’ is the reason.

When I have the whole world and it burns,

I do that sans fear, because no one learns.

I pick and choose the ones to do my dirty work, in turns.

Yet you teach your kids to be nice to others.

Your ‘Goodness’ is the reason.

 

An Insomniac Through the Looking Glass

Part 1

The Rich Insomniac:
I lie on a mattress worth more than your year, wrapped in Egyptian cotton and regret.
Each tick and beep of the air conditioner is a stock market crash, a tuition bill, an insurance policy,
A life built on ledgers, always balancing and never resting.

The Poor Beggar:
I sleep on stone.
The ground does not judge me, nor ask for returns.
Rain taps me to sleep like a lullaby and the stars do not demand performance reviews.

The Rich Insomniac:
I clench my jaw and grind my teeth at night while I dread of layoffs and lawsuits,
Of my son quoting philosophers I paid to teach him to despise the life I gnawed and clawed to give him.
Even my prayers are audited.

The Poor Beggar:
I have no god but hunger and she is always powerful and often merciful.
I find a dry bench, half a flat-bread and curry, a stranger’s cigarette. Oh! That is grace.
And no one expects me to be better than this.

The Rich Insomniac:
I hosted a dinner last night of eight courses.
Smiled till my cheeks ached, nodded at opinions I detested,
Watched my friends sip on wine and poison each other with envy.

The Poor Beggar:
I was spat at, today, near the railway station and called a disease with legs.
But later, a little girl gave me her leftover biscuits.
No grand homage to a grander God. Just a small gift from a smaller hand.

The Rich Insomniac:
I read headlines till 3 in the morning.
The world is burning, and I own part of it. Even charity feels like laundering guilt.
My children talk of revolution, as if it won’t come for our throats first.

The Poor Beggar:
Let it come. I own nothing, so I fear nothing.
I don’t padlock my heart and won’t insure my laughter.
And when I die, the world will not owe me a thing.

The Rich Insomniac:
Sometimes I think of walking out, leaving the portfolio, the passwords,
And the boardrooms that smell like sweat in a bottle.
I envy your nights. They seem honest.

The Poor Beggar:
Then walk out. Ah! But you won’t.
The cage you built has silk curtains and a security system.
You’re locked in even when you are holding the keys.

The Rich Insomniac:
Still, I wonder… Would you take my mornings?
My designer clothes, my name on granite, my power to be heard and to command,
In exchange for your peace after dusk?

The Poor Beggar:
Alas! I can’t take that.
Your world costs too much.
And I already own the only thing you keep losing every night.

Part 2

The Rich Insomniac:
I saw you last night, tucked like forgotten clothing under the flyover.
A thin girl growing wider at the hips, with danger forming around your outline.
I couldn’t look away. Not from the men, nor the dogs, nor the casual indifference of the street.
This world will not ask your permission before consuming you. It rarely does.

You walk barefoot past men who’ve forgotten what mercy is,
But your sleep… Oh! Your sleep lies deeper than any pill I can swallow.
So listen, girl, you don’t need to rot here.
I can offer you a bed, four walls, a lock for the door, a roof.
A place where no one will look at you like you are livestock getting fattened.
You can have all of it, safety, silence and soap, if you’ll take from me this cursed wakefulness.
From this relentless self that ticks through the night with no end or reason.
Only the unbearable hum of having too much.
Take it. Wear it.

Lie awake instead of me. Let your mind gnaw through spreadsheets, school fees,
investments and dying gods.
In return, I’ll swallow your filth, your cold and your bruises, if it means one night of sleep.
This isn’t pity. This is a trade.

The Vagrant Girl:
I know your kind.
The ones who call their cages "shelter" and polish their nightmares into porcelain.
You don’t want to save me. You want to outsource your collapse.
You saw me dreaming under the hiss of streetlight and thought, “that must be stolen”.
You offer me glass towers and velvet chairs, but what you’re handing over is a noose made of comfort.
You want me to wear your insomnia like a second skin, crawl into your mind and scream in your voice.

You say I’ll be clean. Safe.
But I’ve seen the women behind your curtains.
They don’t bleed, but they vanish. They don’t cry, but they crack.
I sleep with dirt under my nails and a sack of sand for a pillow,
I often go to sleep broken but always, I wake up whole.
You want to sell me your haunted palace for the price of my sleep.
But even the dogs out here know a cursed deal when they smell one.

The Rich Insomniac:
And yet, when the nights press down like lead,
I still think of you, feral, untouched by alarms or app updates.
I wonder if your sleep could cure me.
If your ignorance is salvation, if your dreams are blank enough to be a balm.
I would give you my home, my suits and my place in society’s theatre.
Let you walk in light and fame and fake applause.
You can inherit my world.
I’ll take your pavement.
Just let me sleep.

The Vagrant Girl:
I’ve fought too long and traded too much for the peace I sleep in. No, it's not ignorance but defiance.
I sleep because I don’t owe the world anything.
You? You built your insomnia brick by brick, wearing masks for so long, that they’ve grown into your skin.
Now you sleepwalk even while awake.

So, as much as I pity you, thanks, but no thanks. 

The Modern Day Bastardism

“You know nothing, Jon Snow”.

But he did. The bastard became the hero of the whole of Westeros and we all applauded him. 

The word bastard once carried a bitter sting. In the feudal and aristocratic worlds of Europe, a bastard was a child born out of wedlock, legally illegitimate, socially outcast and politically inconvenient. More than just a slur, it was a brand of exclusion. Bastards could not inherit titles, hold certain offices, or be trusted with authority. They were seen as unmoored from the father, not just biologically, but morally. Without a father to guide, teach, or punish, the bastard was feared as unpredictable, unrestrained, and often unprincipled.

In Shakespearean tragedies and medieval chronicles alike, bastards were either scheming outsiders or tragic figures, defined not only by their parentage but by what that parentage denied them. Accountability, recognition and discipline. Society viewed the father not just as a procreator but as the primary custodian of moral order. To be fatherless, in this framework, was to lack the very scaffolding of restraint.

But in the modern world, the term has evolved. Or perhaps it has devolved. The stigma of illegitimacy, rightly, no longer holds moral weight in the personal domain. But the behaviour once associated with the bastard archetype, the audacity, the opportunism and the defiance of norms, now flourishes in boardrooms, cabinets, and battlefields. We no longer shun the bastard. We often reward him.

What we are witnessing today, across the globe, is a cultural and structural phenomenon, a conduct of those who act without fear, shame, or accountability. Those who make decisions not because they are just, but because they can. Those who take what they want, say what they must, and dare anyone to stop them. It is the behaviour of the undisciplined, the unscrutinised, the unchecked. It has left the realm of insult and entered the realm of structure. It is not the exception anymore. It is, increasingly, the operating system.

Let’s explore how this phenomenon has taken root across the world, say, in geopolitics, in commerce, in justice, and in our collective moral imagination. This is not just a lament, but a reckoning. Because when power acts like it has no father, no guide, no limits and no fear of consequence, it stops pretending to serve anyone but itself. It breeds a culture of fearless irresponsibility. Let’s call it, apologising in advance to the pundits of the English language who gave the very meaning to the word, “The Modern Day Bastardism”. 

Bastardism is the ethos of a world where power is unchecked, consequences are delayed or deflected, and responsibility is treated as optional. It is the defining feature of a new kind of leadership, be it  political, corporate or social, that acts without fear of consequence because it knows, instinctively or consciously, that no one is coming to stop it.

Let’s look at some recent global incidents or situations. We have seen Nations act like bastard states. We saw, first hand, the collapse of global restraint when Vladimir Putin launched a full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022. It was a bold act of bastardism. The war was not defensive or reactive, but an expression of historical grievance dressed up as security concern. The Kremlin calculated, correctly, that while NATO and the EU would protest, and while the U.S. would send arms and impose sanctions, no one would intervene directly. Russia’s fearlessness came from years of watching the world grow tired and transactional.

Similarly, Israel's 2023-25 bombing campaign in Gaza, in response to the October 7 Hamas attacks, has taken on the character of strategic overreach. Tens of thousands of civilians have died and entire neighbourhoods flattened. Critics are silenced with charges of anti-Semitism, and global diplomatic institutions are either ignored or rendered inert. When accountability is replaced by loyalty to narratives, bastardism flourishes. Time will tell, if the overreaching has exceeded the limit with the recent targeted attack on Iran’s strategic military locations, but it clearly says that the bastards are not in a mood to stop.

China, too, has demonstrated this trend. In Hong Kong, the National Security Law effectively dissolved democratic freedoms with the world watching. In Xinjiang, reports of internment camps, forced sterilization, and cultural erasure have emerged, yet international backlash has been largely performative. The Chinese state has mastered the art of consequence management through economic entanglement.

In India, the ruling government has displayed increasing unilateralism. Pushing through controversial legislation like the Citizenship Amendment Act (CAA) and the farm laws without meaningful parliamentary debate were part of such behaviour. Electoral bonds have masked political funding, while dissent has been equated with disloyalty. Institutions meant to check power, from the judiciary to the media, are either compromised or under pressure. Reports of the use of Pegasus spyware on journalists, opposition leaders, and activists remain unanswered. The government neither confirmed nor denied its role, choosing instead to stonewall any inquiry. It is their hallmark. Deny nothing, explain nothing and fear nothing. Bastardism here manifests in varied forms ranging from loud tyranny to quiet erosion.

If the Indian example represents institutionalized bastardism, Donald Trump’s brand has been loud, personal, and unapologetic. He wore his defiance like a badge. Trump repeatedly undermined institutions that refused to bend to his will, from the FBI to the CDC. Scientific data, legal norms, and diplomatic conventions were all treated as obstacles to be trampled. His administration withdrew from global agreements unilaterally and with disdain, acting not as a steward of American power but as its entitled heir. 

Perhaps the most defining act of bastardism was inciting a mob to storm the U.S. Capitol, attempting to overturn the democratic process itself. And then, refusing to accept responsibility. In any previous era, this would have been career-ending or even criminal. But Trump calculated that in a hyper-polarized society, accountability is optional. He was right.

In all these cases, the common thread is unmistakable: a sense of power divorced from consequence, and a belief that public fatigue, loyal echo chambers, and institutional complicity will absorb any shock. That is the new bastardism. Not lawless in a legal sense, but utterly fearless in a moral one.

The UN Security Council, designed to maintain global peace, is often paralysed by the veto power of its permanent members. Russia can invade a neighbour, China can stonewall inquiries, and the U.S. can unilaterally shield allies from criticism. The global referee is now a debating club where justice is contingent on geopolitics.

It’s not just the governments. In the modern world, corporations have become the most powerful entities in human history, more agile than governments, more influential than religions, and more embedded in our daily lives than any ideology. But with this power has come a remarkable erosion of restraint. What we witness today, with alarming consistency, is corporate bastardism, behaviour driven not by values or responsibility, but by audacity, secrecy, and self-interest.

Corporate bastardism manifests when a company sees regulation as a hurdle, ethics as just a  marketing tool, and responsibility as a PR risk rather than a core principle. This bastardism is not necessarily loud or criminal. Often, it’s subtle. It’s in the way gig workers are denied benefits by reclassifying them as “independent partners.” It’s in the way tech companies deploy addictive design while professing “wellness.” It’s in how pharmaceutical giants hoard patents while millions die waiting. It’s in data harvesting, in greenwashing, in planned obsolescence, in quietly shifting headquarters to tax havens.

At its root, corporate bastardism is about the knowledge that regulators are slow, public memory is short, and shareholders care only for the next earnings call. It's not just about greed. It’s about impunity. In this context, apologies are scripted, penalties are pre-budgeted, and reform is cosmetic. The corporation knows the game. It understands that with enough size, influence, and capital, there is no “father” left to punish it and no system that can bring it meaningfully to heel.

We’ll outline just a few emblematic examples of how this bastardism plays out in the real world. They are not anomalies. They are templates or blueprints for power without conscience and profits without principles

Facebook’s metamorphosis into Meta was not merely a branding exercise, but an escape from past accountability. Under Zuckerberg’s leadership, Facebook facilitated political manipulation, sowed social division, and prioritized engagement over truth. Despite being called out by whistle-blowers and regulators, it continues to operate with only surface-level accountability. Its ambition to own the future through the metaverse reveals a company that believes it has outgrown reproach.

The Boeing 737 MAX crashes (Lion Air in 2018 and Ethiopian Airlines in 2019) were disasters born from systemic neglect. Investigations revealed how internal safety concerns were suppressed and cost-cutting overrode engineering judgment. In a company once considered a gold standard in aviation, a bastardized culture had emerged, one where shareholder satisfaction trumped passenger safety.

Shein, the Chinese fast fashion giant, represents bastardism in the form of mass consumer manipulation. Its ultra-low prices are enabled by opaque supply chains, labor exploitation, and unsustainable environmental practices. The company targets youth with disposable clothing trends, creating a consumption cycle that rewards irresponsibility.

Even in the high-minded world of artificial intelligence ethics, bastardism creeps in. The OpenAI board's attempted ousting of CEO Sam Altman in 2023 was a drama fuelled by secrecy and internal politics. A company designed to ensure AI benefits all of humanity momentarily veered toward organizational self-sabotage, showing how even the most altruistic missions can fall to ambition.

Modern Day Bastardism is not just about power; it is about a mindset. It is what emerges when Governments face no electoral consequence for deception. When corporations laugh off fines as a cost of doing business. When the media trades in fear, rage, and attention. When citizens become exhausted by complexity and surrender to apathy.

In traditional societies, the "father" figure symbolized not just authority, but accountability. He could discipline, correct, and protect. In modern power structures, no such figure exists. There is no global arbiter, no ethical centre, and no agreed-upon standard of conduct. The result is a default behaviour which is audacious, amoral, and confident. When this goes unchecked, the social fabric frays. Trust dies. Cynicism grows. Systems lose legitimacy. Diplomacy becomes a performance of sorts. Laws become selective. Markets become predatory. Rights become negotiable. The long heralded values like Equality, Liberty and Fraternity will eventually seem laughable. 

So, welcome to the world of Snow. Ramsay. Not Jon.