Last evening I met my Professor friend at our usual café.
Before saying anything, Professor lit his cigar. It was a signal that a serious discussion was about to begin
“Tell me Dr Modak,” he began, “how many crises can the world manage at the same time before dropping the planet?”
“That depends,” I said. “Are we counting political crises or ecological ones?”
“Both,” he replied. “Look around. Wars, trade tensions, collapsing biodiversity, water scarcity, climate disasters, geopolitical theatrics… and every few years we add a new war to the collection. Now Israel and Iran glare at each other across missiles.”
He paused.
“And across the ocean,” he continued, “American politics resembles a long-running television series where the plot twists every week. Trump promises to save America by dismantling half the institutions that run it.”
“You exaggerate,” I said.
“I summarize,” he replied calmly.
“Fine,” I said. “But you are ignoring the positive developments.”
“Positive?” he said, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes. For example, the Sustainable Development Goals. Everyone now pledges alignment with them. Conference of Parties are getting bigger. Sustainability reports are now everywhere. ESG has even found its way into the Oxford dictionary.”
The Professor tapped ash from his cigar.
“Exactly my concern,” he said. “Vocabulary. Abbreviations are growing faster than the words”
“That is unfair,” I protested. “At least sustainability has entered mainstream conversation.”
“Yes,” he said, “and conversations are very safe. Nothing in the environment gets disturbed. And many of those conversations happen in rather luxurious hotels.”
I continued bravely.
“Electric vehicles are increasing everywhere. Charging stations appear in parking lots. Automobile manufacturers promise the end of the internal combustion engine era.”
“Yes,” he said. “Meanwhile electricity grids still depend on coal in several countries.”
“That will change.”
“Perhaps,” he said. “After we finish mining lithium, cobalt, and half the periodic table.”
“You always focus on complications.”
“That is the job description of pessimists.”
I leaned forward.
“Consider circular economy initiatives. Companies redesign packaging, recover materials, recycle plastics, reuse water. Circularity is becoming mainstream.”
“Circular economy,” the Professor said thoughtfully, “is a beautiful concept.”
“Exactly.”
“The difficulty,” he continued, “is that our consumption patterns remain wonderfully linear.”
“You are impossible.”
“I am consistent.”
“But surely you cannot deny progress,” I insisted. “Renewable energy is expanding. Solar power is cheaper. Countries pledge Net Zero targets.”
The Professor smiled faintly.
“Net Zero,” he said. “One of the most elegant phrases invented by climate diplomacy.”
“What is wrong with Net Zero?” I asked.
“Tell me,” he said, “when India reaches Net Zero in 2070, what exactly will we see on the morning of 1 January 2071? Flowers blooming everywhere? Birds chirping in perfectly clean air? Himalayan glaciers politely stabilising?”
The Professor took a slow puff of his cigar.
“No,” he continued “Most likely you will see the same traffic, the same politicians, and the same economists trying to explain why we must now aim for Net Negative.”
“You are cynical.”
“I am experienced.”
He pointed toward the sky.
“Climate change continues. Temperatures break records every year. Forest fires appear like seasonal festivals. Floods visit places that previously hosted droughts.”
“Yes,” I said, “but we now have better climate science, satellite monitoring, and international agreements.”
“Humanity,” he said, “has mastered the art of agreeing that something should be done.”
I changed direction.
“Biodiversity conservation is gaining attention. New protected areas, restoration programs, ecological corridors.”
The Professor nodded slowly.
“While species disappear faster than scientists can catalogue them.”
“That is dramatic.”
“It is statistical.”
He leaned back in his chair.
“Resource security is becoming the next geopolitical chessboard. Water, rare earths, food systems. Countries are securing minerals like collectors of antique coins.”
“That sounds responsible.”
“It also sounds like preparation for future arguments.”
Our coffee arrived.
I took a sip.
“But consider technology,” I added quickly. “Artificial intelligence is on the rise to help this planets sustainability” (I thought I was almost speaking in the recently held Delhi Summit.)
The Professor smiled.
“Possibly,” he said. “Although those intelligent systems sit inside data centres that consume enormous electricity and cooling water.”
He paused.
“Some studies suggest that global AI inference alone may consume hundreds of thousands of megawatt-hours of power annually.”
I decided not to argue further.
“You know,” I continued, “there is another interesting trend you forgot.”
“What is that?” the Professor asked.
“The emergence of modern Godmen.”
The Professor looked mildly curious.
“Explain.”
“Everywhere,” I said, “spiritual teachers appear. They say the world’s problems do not really lie in climate change, wars, politics or economics. They lie in our minds. They advise meditation, inner examination, detachment.”
“Yes,” he said thoughtfully. “I have noticed them. Their ashrams appear to grow faster than forests.”
“They say what we see around us is not the ultimate truth,” I continued. “Pollution, conflict and inequality are merely disturbances of consciousness.”
The Professor nodded slowly.
“Some of them go further,” he said. “They say the world itself is an illusion.”
“Dr Modak,” he asked quietly, “is that the solution?”
“I am not sure,” I admitted.
He tapped the ash from his cigar and said,
“Perhaps meditation will make us calmer while the glaciers melt more peacefully.”
We sat silently for a moment.
Outside, electric scooters moved between petrol cars. A plastic bag floated briefly in the wind before settling in a drain.
The Professor noticed my expression.
“You see contradictions,” he said.
“I see coexistence,” I replied.
“Exactly.”
I thought for a moment.
“Maybe the world is neither improving nor collapsing,” I said slowly. “Maybe it is simply negotiating with itself.”
The Professor nodded.
“That may be the most realistic description.”
“So what should we do?” I asked.
He looked at the cigar that had now burned almost to its end. Carefully, he pressed it into the ashtray and extinguished it.
“Optimists,” he said, “must continue proposing solutions.”
“And pessimists?”
“Must continue asking inconvenient questions.”
“And the Godmen?”
“They will remind us to examine our inner worlds.”
“And the planet?”
“The planet,” he said, “will continue rotating calmly while we argue quietly shifting its axis”
He stood up to leave.
Then he paused and turned back.
“Perhaps the real lesson,” he said, “is this: the world has always been a mixture of noise and wisdom.”
I waited.
“If you listen only to the noise,” he continued, “you become pessimistic.”
“And if you listen only to the wisdom?”
“You become naive.”
“So what is the correct approach?”
The Professor smiled.
“Listen to both,” he said.
Then he pointed toward the small plant growing beside the café entrance.
“And while we continue the debate,” he added, “it may not hurt to plant a few trees.”
“Why?” I asked.
He adjusted his spectacles.
“Because philosophy may calm the mind,” he said, “but a tree quietly improves the world while we keep discussing it.”
As I watched him disappear into the evening traffic, a line from the Bhagavad Gita surfaced in my mind:
यद्यदाचरति श्रेष्ठस्तत्तदेवेतरो जनः
Here, Lord Krishna reminds us that people follow the examples set before them.
Which perhaps means the world will not improve because of declarations or debates, but because somewhere, quietly, someone decides to do one sensible thing and others follow. Perhaps that is how change really begins, not with declarations, but with examples.
And somewhere between frustration and foolish hope, we continue to believe that tomorrow might still surprise us.