Raising Rooted Children in the Age of AI: Why Vedantic Self-Knowledge Matters More Than Ever

Every week, I sit with my two teenage sons and we go through the hashtagBhagavadGita together, more than religious instruction for philosophical training. I want them equipped with the deepest Vedantic concepts our civilisation has produced before they fly off the nest for higher studies, because I suspect the world they are flying into will ask them “who are you” with a force and frequency I never faced at their age.

I do not know how hashtagAI is going to change everything. What I do know is what I am trying to do with whatever time and capability I have. Build my sons’ arsenal of self-knowledge deep enough that nothing can hollow out their sense of who they are. And in parallel, become more deliberately involved in questions of culture and identity myself, so that this extraordinarily powerful technology gets pointed, even in some small way, toward making the world better for them.

Here is the elephant in the room, named directly. We are at real risk of AI quietly homogenising human culture. A model trained mostly on English-language internet data does not just answer in English. It begins to think in the assumptions, the references, the aesthetic instincts of whoever produced the most text online. Without deliberate correction, “global AI” risks becoming, by sheer statistical gravity, a culturally narrow AI wearing a universal costume. A child anywhere on earth could grow up asking an AI about identity and receive an answer rootless to their own soil.

There is a second risk, say if a teenager can ask an AI about the hashtagGita instead of sitting weekly with a parent who has wrestled with it personally, something in the chain of transmission breaks, even if the algorithm’s answer is technically correct.

And underneath both risks lies the deepest one, that if AI becomes capable enough at everything, will an entire generation simply stop asking who they are at all, because the question stops feeling necessary?

I do not think the answer is rejecting the technology because the tool itself is not the problem. The question is what steers it. There are already real examples of AI pointed in the right direction. The Cherokee Nation partnered with Microsoft to build an AI-powered Cherokee keyboard and text-to-speech tools, now used in tribal schools where fewer than 2,000 fluent speakers remain. Manx, a Celtic language UNESCO had declared extinct, is being taught to children again and now available inside major translation platforms. Meta’s No Language Left Behind project built translation models for over 50 African languages. In each of these cases, the technology became a life raft for the culture to keep speaking in its own voice, to its own children, on its own terms.

My sons will leave home soon enough. I cannot control what AI becomes in the years they are away from home. What I can control is whether they leave carrying a hashtagVedantic arsenal substantial enough to ask better questions than the ones any model hands them by default.

Speed, Truth, and the Architecture of Civilisations

In 2020, I was designing NDMS, the pan-India cloud-based news gathering system for Akashvani and Doordarshan. One decision point became central to the entire architecture, “Should machine translation auto-publish news across India’s regional languages, or should every single item pass through a human Information Services Officer first?”

Speed argued for automation. The risk of fake news insertion, rapid propagation across regional languages, and translation errors that could distort meaning in ways no algorithm would catch, argued otherwise. I chose authentication over speed and built NDMS where every news item is manually verified before it reaches a citizen in any of India’s languages.

That was a small decision inside a government system. But the same choice seems central to our entire civilisation, at infinitely larger scale, with infinitely higher stakes.

And here not just Jobs, but lives are at stake. In November 2024, Suchir Balaji, a 26-year-old former OpenAI researcher who had gone public with concerns that the company broke copyright law to train its AI, was found dead in his San Francisco apartment. His parents have disavowed the conclusion of authorities and have publicly stated, repeatedly and on record, their belief that their son was killed for what he knew. They have filed a wrongful death lawsuit alleging tampering with surveillance footage and obstruction of the investigation. Sam Altman, when asked, said it looked like a suicide to him.

What I want to name here is the civilisational moment it represents. A whistleblower raised concerns about how a powerful technology company built its product. He died a month later. His own parents do not believe the official story. And the public conversation moved on within weeks, because the technology kept shipping regardless.

The Bhagavad Gita’s sixteenth chapter offers a framework I am developing further in my upcoming work. It describes two inherited natures in every person and every institution. Daivik Sampada, the divine qualities of truthfulness, restraint, and fearlessness in service of what is right. Asurik Sampada, the demonic qualities of hypocrisy, arrogance, and the pursuit of power without conscience. And civilisations, like a person, become whatever nature it consistently chooses under pressure.

A technological civilisation built entirely on Asurik Sampada optimises for speed, scale, and shareholder value, and treats truth, dignity, and human life as variables to be managed around. A technological civilisation built on Daivik Sampada asks a harder, slower question before every deployment. What does this do to a human being’s capacity to trust, to know what is real, to remain safe?

My NDMS decision was small but the principle inside it was not. Choose Daivik Sampada at the architecture level, before the product ships, or inherit Asurik Sampada’s consequences after it does. What does your organisation choose when speed and truth compete for the same deadline?

Divine Intelligence and Human Innovation: Understanding Bhagavad Gita 10.41 in Modern Life

यद्यद्विभूतिमत्सत्त्वं श्रीमदूर्जितमेव वा |
तत्तदेवावगच्छ त्वं मम तेजोंऽशसम्भवम् || BG 10.41 ||

(जो-जो भी ऐश्वर्ययुक्त, लक्ष्मीयुक्त और कान्तियुक्त अथवा शक्तिमान वस्तु है, उस-उसको तुम मेरे तेज के अंश से ही उत्पन्न हुई जानो।)

(Whatever opulence, effulgence, and potent power you see, know that to be born of but a fraction of My splendor.)

Every extraordinary talent, beauty, or powerhouse creation in the universe originates from the same divine source.

Let’s take a look at how this divine brilliance manifests in our daily lives. Consider the life of a homemaker today compared to the early 1900s:

Then: Hours spent washing clothes by hand, grinding spices manually, and cooking over smoky wood stoves.
Now: Washing machines, mixer-grinders, and smart microwaves save hours of labor and protect health.

Every technological breakthrough, from the simple refrigerator to modern smart home automation, is an extension of human intelligence.
As Shri Krishn explains in this shlok, any extraordinary capability, beauty, or excellence in this world is not random. It is a tiny spark of Divine’s boundless energy and splendor channelled through human minds to make the world better.

When we appreciate technology, we are ultimately appreciating the source of that intelligence. Likewise, every spark of intelligence is divine expression hence best used for LokSangrah, welfare of all.