Rising superpower India

In 2024, Rohan lived a routine that he felt he couldn't break, and in a way, he didn't want to. He was a PhD student in the Department of International Relations at the University of Pune, and his days were filled solely with his research. It wasn't exciting, but it felt important. He studied geopolitics and historical conflicts, believing that one day his work could make a real difference for India. But in pursuit of this goal, the rest of his life had passed by without him even noticing. Rohan woke up before sunrise every day, usually around 5:00 AM. His small apartment was always in a state of disarray, with books scattered across the floor, piles of paperwork on every surface, and old coffee cups he never bothered to clean. He didn't care much about how he looked; it was just a place to sleep and work. Most of the walls were bare, save for a few maps he had pinned up, filled with notes and theories written in the margins. He would stare at those maps for hours, imagining how different countries were planning their next moves like pieces on a chessboard. He lived for these maps. His mornings were always the same. First, coffee, then he would sit at his desk, buried under stacks of books. The library was his second home. There was silence there, and he could spend hours researching without any distractions. Most of his classmates hung out in groups, went to cafes after lectures, or had dinner together. Not Rohan. He admired some of them, like Kavita, who always asked the most intelligent questions in class. She seemed to have found the kind of clarity he was struggling to find. Then there was Arjun, who was also doing his PhD, but somehow managed to have a social life. Rohan often saw him having fun with others at the library cafe after class. It wasn't exactly jealousy, but Rohan wondered how Arjun balanced everything so well. Rohan himself hadn't spoken properly to anyone about anything other than research or deadlines for weeks. One afternoon, as the lecture ended, Kavita walked up to him. It wasn't something that happened often, and it surprised him. "Hey, Rohan, are you coming to the study group later?" she asked, her tone casual, but her eyes truly curious. Rohan walked toward her. "I don't think so. I have some work to do," he mumbled. It wasn't exactly a lie, but he knew that even if he had free time, he wouldn't go. Kavita nodded, but didn't press. "Okay, but if you change your mind, we'll be at the usual place." She smiled politely and he watched her walk away with a group of classmates, their laughter fading as they walked down the hall. He could have joined them, but something always held him back. The days went by the same way—studying, more studying, and then some more. Even on weekends, when the campus was quiet, he would go to the library, writing for hours or refining his research. The silence of the library seemed comforting, even if it sometimes highlighted just how much time he spent alone. One evening, after a whole day of reading and taking notes, Rohan didn't go straight home; he wandered around the campus. He noticed a group near the student union, their energy catching his eye. They seemed so carefree, so different from the isolated routine he had created for himself. Rohan stood there for a while, hands in his pockets, watching them from a distance. He felt a strange longing—a silent desire to be part of that, to have someone to talk to outside of his academic world. But he couldn't remember the last time he had engaged in anything social. Just as he was about to leave, he heard someone calling his name. He turned to see Meera, one of the junior faculty members who had recently joined the department. She was a few years older than him, but she had a warm, approachable demeanor that made her popular with both students and staff. "Rohan, you're still here?" she asked with a small smile, looking at him. "Yeah, just... couldn't bring myself to leave the library yet," he said, scratching the back of his head. Meera nodded knowingly. "I understand. Sometimes it's hard to stop when you're in the middle of a problem." She paused for a moment and continued, "But you know, it's important to step away sometimes. I see you working late a lot. Don't burn yourself out." Rohan gave a small smile, though it sounded more like a long sigh. "Yeah, I think I get a bit lost in it." She looked at him with a mix of concern and understanding. "We all do. But don't forget to take care of yourself. It's easy to get stuck in work and miss out on everything else... well, everything else." He didn't know what to say. She wasn't wrong, but hearing it out loud made his heart feel heavier. "I'll try," he said, though he wasn't sure if he meant it. They talked for a few more minutes, the conversation light and friendly, before saying goodbye. But as Rohan headed home, Meera's words stuck in his mind. Of course, she was right. Somewhere along the line, he had lost the rest of his life. His research had consumed him, but at what cost? He was always alone, speaking very little even to his classmates outside of academic discussions. The next few days were the same—lectures, research, and long hours in the library. But Meera's words still echoed in the corner of his mind, forcing him to question his routine. One evening, as the monsoon season descended upon Pune, Rohan left the library later than usual. The sky was heavy, dark gray, and the streets were almost deserted. It was raining incessantly, crashing against the pavement and splashing off the edges of the roof. He pulled out his umbrella, though it did little to protect him from the torrential rain. He was crossing the street, distracted, when he heard the roar of a car engine. He had no time to react; the headlights blinded him. A sleek Porsche sped down the slippery road, tires skidding on the wet pavement. In a split second, Rohan's world turned upside down. The car hit him hard, and he was thrown into the air. Time seemed to slow down. He felt the impact, the cold rain hitting his face as he was tossed like a ragdoll. The world became a blur of light, rain, and pain as he hit the ground with a sickening thud. His body screamed in pain, but he couldn't move. He couldn't even breathe. The sound of the rain was deafening, and everything else was drifting away from his thoughts, his memories, his life. The pain was unbearable, but worse than the physical injury was the wave of regret that washed over him. He thought about all the things he hadn't done. The friendships he had avoided, the conversations he had sidestepped, the life he had held at arm's length because of his obsession with his work. Lying on the rain-drenched street, his vision began to blur as the blood on the pavement mixed with the water. Darkness began to descend from the edges, and with it came the realization that this might be it. His work, his dreams—they were slipping away from him. And at that moment, it hit him hard. He had been so focused on trying to make a change in the world, but what change had he actually made? The world went dark. When Rohan opened his eyes, the world around him felt strange and unfamiliar. The first thing he noticed was the soft light of oil lamps burning in the room. He tried to sit up, trembling as pain radiated through his body, but it wasn't the hospital bed he had expected. The bed he was lying on was covered in heavy, embroidered fabric that didn't fit modern times. The room was large, but it felt intimate, as if it had been lived in for many years. Rohan's eyes darted around in confusion. The walls were carved from wood, and there was no trace of the modern world he had come from. Instead, there was a large wooden desk with old leather-bound books, papers, and a quill. Everything felt like it belonged to another era. He tried to steady his breathing, panic rising in his chest. Where was he? How was this possible? His eyes fell on a portrait hanging on the opposite wall—a man draped in simple white cloth, his expression calm but authoritative. Below the portrait was a plaque: *Pandit Neelkanth Rao, Leader of the Democratic Congress Party.* Rohan's heart skipped a beat as memories flooded back; Pandit Rao had passed away recently, leaving a massive void in the party's leadership. But what did that have to do with him? Just then, there was a knock at the door, and before Rohan could respond, the door opened. A man in his fifties, wearing a simple kurta, entered. His face was filled with anxiety, but when he looked at Rohan, respect shone in his eyes. "Sir, the party leaders are waiting for you in the next room," the man said, his voice steady but urgent. Rohan blinked, feeling as though the ground had shifted beneath him. "Waiting for me?" he repeated, his voice barely a whisper. "I don't understand. Where am I?" The man looked at him intently, as if trying to understand Rohan's confusion. "Sir, you are the new leader of the Democratic Congress Party. The nation needs your guidance now more than ever." Rohan stared at him, his mind spinning. This couldn't be. He was a PhD student, not a political leader. How had he gone from the rain-slicked streets of Pune to... this path? "I think there's been a mistake," Rohan said, slowly standing up, though his legs felt weak. "I'm not who you think I am." The man smiled slightly, though his eyes remained serious. "Sir, the country believes in you. The party believes in you. You are exactly what we need right now." Rohan didn't know how to respond. His instinct told him to run to escape this situation, but something deeper pulled him in. The years he had spent studying international relations, understanding how nations work and how leaders make decisions—it all felt like preparation for something. Maybe... this? But how could he lead a country? He barely knew how to manage his own life. "I don't think I'm ready," Rohan finally admitted, his voice trembling. "I don't know how I got here." The man placed a reassuring hand on Rohan's shoulder. "No one is ever fully ready for responsibility of this scale, Sir. But sometimes, the world chooses us. And we must face the opportunity." Rohan wasn't sure if he should trust the man, but did he have any other choice? "Okay," Rohan said, slowly nodding. "Give me a few minutes." The man bowed to him with respect. "The leaders are ready whenever you are, Sir. I will give you a few moments." As the man left the room, Rohan turned to face the portrait of Pandit Neelkanth Rao. The man in the painting seemed to be watching him, those calm eyes filled with a wisdom that Rohan wasn't sure he could ever possess. "How did you do it?" Rohan whispered. He took a deep breath and shrugged. He might not know how he had arrived here, but one thing was clear: he could not go back. Whatever had brought him here had given him the opportunity to make the impact he had always dreamed of. And perhaps, just perhaps, this was the purpose he had been searching for all along. Taking one last look at the portrait, Rohan stepped toward the door, ready to face whatever awaited him on the other side. As he walked down the corridor, Rohan's mind raced. He couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't real, that at any moment he would wake up back in his cramped apartment in Pune, in his quiet, isolated life. But the further he walked, the more he realized this was no dream. It felt too real. When he reached the room where the party leaders were waiting, he hesitated for a moment before pushing the door open. Inside, a group of men and women stood around a long table, their faces serious, their eyes fixed on him as he entered. "Sir," a woman stepped forward and said. "We were waiting for your guidance. The situation is urgent." Rohan nodded, though he knew nothing about the situation. He sat at the head of the table, feeling completely unsettled but knowing he had to play the part. For now, he had to trust that somehow, he would be able to face the challenge. As they began to explain the country's critical issues, Rohan's mind clicked into gear. This was what he had studied. He knew the world's systems, the dynamics of power, and the strategies used by leaders. Perhaps he wasn't as lost as he had thought. And perhaps, just perhaps, this was exactly where he was meant to be.