Opinion

The Debate That Sparked the Question
A few weeks ago, I watched a debate between Javed Akhtar and an Islamic scholar, Mufti Shamail Nadvi, on the question: Does God exist? Javed Akhtar argued that God does not exist, grounding his position in human sufferingp articularly the violence and deaths in Palestine and elsewhere. His central question was simple and unsettling: if God exists, why does He allow such suffering?
Mufti Shamail, on the other hand, argued that God must exist otherwise, who created the universe?
While watching the debate, I felt that the exchange was not truly between equals. Mufti Shamail is a trained Islamic scholar, an academic whose profession is to study, teach, and defend the idea of God. Javed Akhtar, though a towering public intellectual and artist, is a poet and thinker not someone professionally trained to win theological arguments. In that sense, the debate felt uneven from the start.
Interestingly, Mufti Shamail appeared dominant in the beginning, but weaker in the later half. Perhaps this was inevitable, because in such debates the burden of proof lies with the believer, not the non-believer. Though the room frequently erupted in applause for Mufti Shamail’s arguments, it seemed to me that much of that response came from people who already shared his faith. Later, I saw several videos where Mufti Shamail and his supporters declared victory.
Personally, I am a firm believer in God and I will explain why—but I found Javed Akhtar’s position intellectually honest. Mufti Shamail did not convince me of God’s existence, largely because the language and conceptual framework he used felt alien to Javed Akhtar’s worldview. Still, this blog is not about who won or lost that debate. It is about what God means to me.
Belief Is Not Inherited, It Evolves
I believe that faith is not something we simply inherit; it is something that evolves. Often, we confuse belief with early conditioning those childhood days when we bowed before idols or prayed simply because our parents asked us to. That is not belief; that is obedience.
For me, belief has been a journey and I suspect this is true for many, especially those who grow up with idol worship.
Consider a small child running ahead of their parents in a crowded place. The child keeps looking back, running confidently as long as the parents are visible. But the moment the parents disappear from sight, the child begins to cry. At that moment, the child has no concept of God. What the child has is trust—trust in parents as protectors. When that trust vanishes, the world suddenly feels unsafe and full of strangers.
A few years later, you see the same child moving confidently through crowds, no longer clinging to a parent’s hand. At this stage, the child begins to understand the limitations of parents and starts believing in themselves—their ability to solve problems, to navigate the world. Parental support still exists, but it is no longer central.
When Self-Belief Is No Longer Enough
The next transformation comes much later, when the individual is truly on their own fighting for a job, recognition, success, and dignity. Slowly, a realization sets in: we are not the sole drivers of our destiny. Multiple factors shape success and failure. Talent does not always lead to opportunity. Less capable people sometimes rise higher, while the deserving remain unseen.
We also realize that life is no longer linear or predictable. Education followed clear rules study, pass exams, move forward. The real world does not. It is often harsh, sometimes rewarding, and frequently unfair. It can be brutal even to good people.
At this stage, something shifts inside us. We begin to need a power larger than ourselves—much like we once needed our parents. Someone we can trust, seek strength from, and even complain to when things do not go as plannedw hich they often do not.
From this point onward, many of us find God.
Why God Matters to Me
As life’s uncertainties increase, trust in God grows not as a scientific conclusion, but as a source of strength. I believe that any deeply logical person, especially one well-versed in science, might conclude that God does not exist. But then I ask myself: what is the purpose of reaching that conclusion?
If belief in God helps us survive our darkest moments, carry hope through unbearable loss, gather courage after repeated failures, and still enjoy success with humility then does the debate really matter?
For me, God is not a problem-solver in the transactional sense. He may not fix everything. But He gives me the courage to live, the hope to continue, and a sense of meaning when life feels overwhelming. That, to me, is indispensable.
A Personal Choice, Not a Public Verdict
If you are strong enough to rely entirely on yourself, if you do not need what some might call an “imaginary support,” then by all means, walk that path. I cannot. And I know I am not alone.
For many of us, the question of whether God exists or does not exist is flawed. God is not a scientific hypothesis to be proven or disproven in a debate hall. Faith is deeply personal—a choice shaped by experience, vulnerability, and the need for meaning.
For me, God exists because I need Him. Not to explain the universe, but to live in it. And that, I believe, is reason enough.

whether you are comfortably sitting on your sofa with remote in one hand and mobile in the other, or you are working on your lap top or you  driving your new EV car for all these things we should be thankful to one person an Italian Physicist Alesandro Volta who invented the battery and the unit of electric potential the Volt named after him Since then battery had gone many phases and the current lithium ion batteries has changed the world because of its high storage capacity, compact size, long life span and high safety. I would say the early days batteries were like steam engine while the lithium batteries are Jet engines. No wonder that the Nobel prize of chemistry in 2019 was given to John B. Goodenough, M. Stanley, and Akira Yoshino for making Lithium-ion batteries practical and safe.

Now the interesting part is there are five necessary input materials for batteries: Lithium, Cobalt, Nickel, Graphite and magnesium. Have you ever thought while buying or looking at these batteries from where its input material comes. If not, then here is the fascinating information and you will surprise how complex it is due to the current global geopolitics.

 80% of the Lithium is supplied world over by three countries Australia ~45%, Chile ~28% and China ~17%.

Around 70% of the Nickle is supplied by three countries Indonesia~45% Philipnes~15% and Russia~10%

Most interestingly, 75% of the World Cobalt comes from only one country Known as Democratic Republic of Congo. If you have been interested in world news then only you know that this country is struggling with political instability, civil wars, and armed groups and of course resulting into poverty, child labour and debates on ethical sourcing for the cobalt. A country so rich with natural resources but the population marred with poverty but quietly making our lives easier although majority of the population have no food on their plates.

70% of the Manganese comes from three countries, Australia~14%, South Africa~36% and again a hardly known country Gabon~20%.Gabon is neighbouring country of Congo and relatively an stable elected government after the 2023 coup.

The fourth input material Graphite, although it is available in many countries but interestingly it’s processing to use in batteries is very complex and here our neighbouring country China dominates and supplies 70% of the world over needs.Many of the countries who have Garphite but do not have the processing capacity sent it to China.

There are three things to note.

China produces 70% of the world’s Lithium Ion battery

Cobalt which necessarily comes from Congo but 80% of the cobalt mining and infrastructure is owned by the Chinese public enterprises and majority of the cobalt transported to China for refining.

Second, although we talk about technologies but having technology is difficult else other countries would have come up with graphite processing infrastructure.

China is worlds leading Lithium refiner and control over 70% of the refining although it has only around ~17% of Lithium reserves.

Although Australia produces 45% of the world’s Lithium but almost all is exported to China for processing although Australia is is trying to restrict China and diversify.

China control about 68% of world’s Nickel refining capacity although

If you look at the data, you will find that how Chinna controls the world market of Batteries and our technology upgradation, mobility upgradation everything dependent on them and in coming days as the countries dependency on batteries grows which is inevitable China will behave like USA and probably more dangerous.

Another news from the newspaper, a 17-year-old boy was on his way to a coaching class in Bhagalpur Bihar, when a van hit him. He died on the spot. A few metres ahead, the van overturned and the fish it was carrying fell onto the road. People gathered there. But instead of helping, or even standing quietly, many started picking up the fish. A child had just died, yet people were busy collecting what they could.
The accident was tragic, but the response of the locals was far more unsettling.
I keep asking myself why such scenes no longer shock us the way they should. One reason, I feel, is that we see too much of this now. Accidents, deaths, and violence are part of our daily news. When the same kind of events keep appearing again and again, the mind slowly stops reacting.
In the book Thinking, Fast and Slow, which co-incidentally I am reading these days this is explained in a simple way. The brain gets used to repeated events. What is familiar feels less important. The mind chooses the easier path—notice it quickly and move on. We don’t slow down to think or feel. That part of the mind switches off.
Living among strangers has made this easier. Many of us no longer live in close communities. No one knows us, and we don’t know anyone. There is little fear of judgment. Little sense of shared responsibility. The boy was not “ours.” He was just someone lying there.
The worry is not just that we feel less. The worry is what comes next.
Seeing death so often may not make us numb, but it does not force us to act without shame. Picking up fish beside a dead child is not a reflex. It is a decision. And that decision tells us something uncomfortable about the direction we are moving in.
When I was in school, we had a separate class called moral teaching. At that time, we thought it was useless. Now I realise how important it was. Psychology also tells us that what we repeatedly hear and read slowly shapes our thinking and behaviour. Probably, this has been removed from the curriculum. Now from a young age, children are taught to look for benefit whether its job or entrepreneurship, to take advantage of situations, and to not miss opportunities. This way of thinking comes from the market, but it does not remain there. It quietly enters our everyday behaviour. When such thinking meets tragedy, something dangerous happens. A moment that should demand respect turns into a chance to get something for free. The fish mattered more than the life that was lost. I think it needs to be balanced by educating empathy, sensitivity, morality as well. Else it will be one-sided growth may be very cruel growth where this will be normalised like the past practices like slavery, like Sati when it was normalised and people assumed that the practice was correct.

I don’t know where this leads. If today we can loot fish beside a dead child, what will tomorrow look like?

This morning, while flipping through the newspaper, my attention was drawn to a small news item tucked away in a corner of the fourth page: “Mothers held after sons harass girl.” The headline caught my eye; otherwise, newspapers today are routinely filled with reports of theft, scams, murder, rape, and sexual harassment.

The news described how a thirteen-year-old girl was repeatedly harassed by boys of her own age from a nearby locality while she was commuting to and from school. The girl was studying in Class VIII, whereas the boys, also around thirteen, were not attending school and spent their time loitering in the area. The police registered a case under the relevant child protection law and took the mothers of the boys into custody. Legal experts have since questioned whether parents should be held responsible for the actions of juvenile offenders.

I am not a legal expert, but the incident raises an important concern: who should be held responsible for such behaviour by thirteen-year-old boys? In the past, informal social controls—extended families, neighbourhoods, and community norms—played a role in shaping behaviour. Today, those controls have weakened due to nuclear families, migration, and rapid urbanisation. In this changing context, accountability becomes unclear. While the issue is complex, it is difficult to deny that the foundations of behaviour are laid early in life and often persist for a long time.

Before exploring this further, a few observations are important.

First, India reports a very large number of sexual offence cases every year. It is important to note that these figures reflect only reported cases, usually involving higher severity. Everyday harassment experienced by women and girls across social settings largely remains unreported and invisible.

Second, formal academic education has not adequately addressed inappropriate behaviour toward women and girls. Schools focus heavily on academic outcomes, while issues of respect, consent, boundaries, and emotional regulation are either addressed superficially or avoided altogether. As a result, children often learn these behaviours informally from peers, media, and social cues.

Third, it is concerning that strong resistance is rarely seen when popular media films like Kabir Singh and Animal or OTT platforms openly objectify women or glorify aggressive masculinity. Certain widely watched films normalise entitlement, control, and violence in relationships, yet sustained public pushback has been limited. Such portrayals shape social attitudes and contribute to an immature understanding of sexuality, reinforcing the idea among boys that abusive or dominating behaviour is acceptable or even admirable.

At this point, it is useful to distinguish between two forms of sexual violence.

Early-stage sexual violence refers to everyday, normalised behaviours such as lewd comments, staring, catcalling, sexist jokes, unwanted messages, or inappropriate touching. These acts are often dismissed as “minor,” go unreported, and are sustained by silence and social acceptance, yet they cause fear, humiliation, and long-term psychological harm.

Advanced-stage sexual violence includes serious criminal acts such as sexual assault, rape, coercion, trafficking, and extreme physical or sexual abuse. These acts involve clear violations of bodily autonomy and require formal legal and institutional intervention.

While early-stage and advanced-stage sexual violence exist on a continuum, they are driven by different dominant mentalities. Research and prevention frameworks consistently show that when early-stage sexual violence is ignored or normalised, it creates social conditions that increase the risk of more severe violence over time. This does not mean that every minor act escalates, but that tolerance at the early stage weakens collective boundaries.

Therefore, I believe that early-stage sexual violence is where society has the greatest opportunity to intervene. This is not about blaming all boys or all families, but about acknowledging a widespread cultural pattern. In many Indian families, boys are unknowingly taught entitlement, emotional privilege, and reduced accountability through everyday practices being given more freedom, excused behaviour, silence around consent, and shifting responsibility onto girls. These unspoken lessons normalise boundary violations later in life.

What boys should instead learn through family culture, schooling, and community interaction are respect for boundaries, personal responsibility, emotional literacy, and equality. These are not abstract values, but essential life skills that must be modelled consistently by parents, teachers, and adults around them.

This issue must therefore be treated as a social and behavioural challenge, not only as a legal one. Parents are the primary audience for change, schools are critical co-shapers, and communities including neighbours, transport workers, shopkeepers, and bystanders have an important role in responding to early-stage misconduct.

Just as national programs like Beti Bachao Beti Padhao were launched to address structural gender issues, a large-scale nationwide initiative such as “Kind Men, Strong Society” can be developed to raise respectful boys and prevent early-stage sexual harassment.

The hope is that after a decade of sustained, collective effort, flipping through a morning newspaper will no longer reveal stories of teenage girls being harassed by teenage boys.

I have always thought about writing, but never actually did it. Most of the writing happened only in my mind, not on paper or on a laptop. Somewhere at the back of my mind, a persistent thought prevailed—that I could not write, that I did not have the ability to do so.

However, my daughter and my wife kept encouraging me to start writing a blog, and that encouragement eventually led me to purchase the subscription. When it came to choosing a name, I had several options in mind. Some were not available, while others did not resonate with me or did not align with my thought process.

I was drawn to the name The Moonlit Pages for three reasons. First, I tend to look at both sides of a coin. Between black and white, there is often a large grey area, and I believe most of my writing will fall within that space, as I do not claim to have perfect or absolute views. Second, my writing is likely to be opinion-based—grounded in a few facts, but not limited to dry or purely factual narration. Third, there may be times when my thoughts do not lead to a very clear conclusion and remain somewhat opaque or open-ended.

These ideas reminded me of looking at things in moonlight. Some objects are clearly visible, while others are only partially seen. Things that are close can be identified with certainty, but those at a distance may appear only as outlines, leaving room for interpretation.

This website is therefore a space for me to write for myself—about whatever captures my interest. The views expressed will be my own, though they will be rooted in some element of truth. I want to be consistent and develop a habit of recording my thoughts and reflecting on them further, rather than assuming they will stay with me over time—which rarely happens.

Let’s see how this journey unfolds. But it is only fair to acknowledge that this beginning is largely due to my daughter’s insistence.

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