By Suvir Saran
New Delhi [India], April 13 (ANI): “Main apni talaash mein hoon, mera koi rahnuma nahi hai, Woh kya dikhayenge raah mujhko, jinhe khud apna pata nahi hai.”
These lines drift in and out of my head, sometimes like a whisper, sometimes like a full-throated song. I sing them often–while stuck in traffic, staring at the ceiling before sleep, or on those days when the world feels like it’s spinning too fast and standing still all at once. They speak to a certain untethering–of searching without a clear guide, of journeying without a map, of not knowing quite where you are but knowing you must keep going.
That sense of movement–of being a traveller through systems, through spaces, through identity itself–is at the heart of GeoTechnoGraphy: Mapping Power and Identity in the Digital Age, the new book by my elder brother Samir Saran and his co-author, Anirban Sarma. And while it may sound odd to write a column about one’s own sibling, it also feels honest. Because this is not just a book release. It’s the culmination of years of observation, dedication, and a kind of quiet fire that I’ve seen in Samir since we were kids.
Let me start by saying: I’m squeamish about this. Not because I don’t admire him. I do, immensely. But because writing about someone you love is like trying to take a photo of the sea–it never captures the scale, the undertow, the unpredictability. Samir is many things to the world: a global thinker, a policy wonk, a strategic mind with rare clarity. But to me, he’s also the guy who replies to every text instantly, who never misses a birthday cake-cutting at midnight–even when he’s working three time zones away. He’s not the one who sends flowers–he checks in. He remembers. He cares.
No birthday goes unmarked in our household. The puppies get as much affection as the people. And all of it comes in his style–gentle, brazen, thunderous, and unmistakably heartfelt. It’s not performative. It’s not curated. It’s just him.
I’ve watched him since we were young–stepping in when someone needed protection, speaking up for those who weren’t seen. He’s always been a champion for the overlooked. I see that same instinct now in his work, in his team. Women, youth, minorities–not just working with him, but thriving, finding agency and voice and access. And just as he mentors, he listens. He learns. There’s no hierarchy in his head when it comes to good ideas–only respect for them.
That, I think, is what makes GeoTechnoGraphy more than a book. It’s a tool. A map. A reflection of a mind that sees people–real people–in the systems we so often reduce to jargon. It offers us a way to understand the intersection of geography, identity, and technology not through abstraction, but through care. Through attention. Through the conviction that the digital world isn’t just code–it’s consequence.
Now, let me paint a more domestic scene. Samir’s not the one serving you food. He’s too busy eyeing your plate and saying, “Eat that before I do.” He’s not greedy–he’s goading. Pushing you to keep up, because if you don’t, you’ll blink and he’ll have polished off what could feed twenty. That’s how we eat together. Over rajma chawal, sambhar chawal, gol gappas, and aloo tikki crisped to golden perfection. And of course, ChinJabi–our glorious, greasy blend of Indian Chinese noodles, Manchurian balls drowning in spicy sauce, and mom yelling from the kitchen not to spill soy on the tablecloth.
Between bites, the world gets discussed. That’s when Samir starts talking about how borders are blurring, how data is becoming weaponized, how influence no longer lives in embassies but in platforms. No lecture, no preamble. Just a line or two that makes you stop mid-chew and think: That’s true. That’s actually happening.
Those table-side fragments now live fully formed in GeoTechnoGraphy. But don’t mistake it for a think-tank manifesto. This is a deeply readable, rigorously argued, and often beautifully surprising book. It names something many of us have felt–that the internet no longer feels free, that democracy feels digitally distorted, that power now lies with those who write algorithms rather than laws.
Samir and Anirban introduce “geotechnography” as a way of understanding how identity and control are being redrawn by invisible systems–platforms that decide which voices rise and which are buried, networks that transcend nations but obey no real accountability. This isn’t dystopia. This is now. And the book doesn’t ask us to fear it–it asks us to see it. To understand the architecture of power as it currently exists, and then decide what we want to build in its place.
It asks hard questions. Can digital democracy survive without digital sovereignty? Can inclusion be more than a tagline? Can the contradictions of our digital societies be reconciled–or will they collapse in on themselves?
“Will this lead to a stronger, more inclusive world–or will the contradictions of our digital societies cause them to implode?”
That question, posed starkly on the book’s back cover, feels like the one we all need to be asking ourselves–whether we’re scrolling, coding, governing, or just trying to make sense of the world as it is.
The book doesn’t just diagnose. It listens. It brings in global voices–Nandan Nilekani, Mukesh Ambani, Marietje Schaake, Carl Bildt, Suzanne Vares-Lum, Alexander Stubb. It feels global in ambition but deeply grounded in the realities of those navigating life with nothing but a smartphone and a million competing truths. There’s no fatalism here. Just clarity. And sometimes clarity is the most radical thing of all.
I know how much thought went into every sentence of this book. I’ve seen the drafts, the long nights, the endless edits. Samir doesn’t write with vanity. He writes because he must. Because explaining the world is his way of engaging with it, and because asking questions is his form of care.
So yes, this is a book review of sorts. But it’s also a love letter–to a brother, to a worldview, to a lifelong dinner table conversation that now lives in hardback.
GeoTechnoGraphy is many things. A warning. A blueprint. A conversation starter. A compass for a world spinning on a different axis.
But to me, it’s a reminder that the ones who help us find our way… don’t always arrive with a spotlight or a title.
Sometimes, they show up with sambhar, a smile, and a second helping of noodles.
And if you don’t eat fast enough, they’ll finish your plate too. (ANI/Suvir Saran)
Disclaimer: Suvir Saran is a Masterchef, Author, Hospitality Consultant And Educator. The views expressed in this article are his own. (ANI)
Disclaimer: This story is auto-generated from a syndicated feed of ANI; only the image & headline may have been reworked by News Services Division of World News Network Inc Ltd and Palghar News and Pune News and World News
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