Ignorance is always afraid of change.

Host: The night was quiet, heavy with the smell of rain-soaked earth and the faint hum of a sleeping city. In a small apartment at the edge of town, a single lamp flickered on a wooden table, casting a soft halo over two figures.

Jack sat with his sleeves rolled up, his hands stained with ink and frustration, papers scattered before him like the remnants of a war. Jeeny stood near the window, her silhouette outlined against the moonlight, the curtain swaying beside her with each gust of wind.

The sound of a distant train echoed, then faded — leaving behind the kind of silence that demands truth.

Jack: “You ever notice how people talk about change like it’s a miracle — until it arrives?”

Jeeny: “Maybe because it never arrives gently. Change is a storm, Jack. It pulls up roots, breaks the familiar, forces us to see differently. Most people don’t hate it — they’re just afraid.”

Jack: “Afraid? Or comfortable? That’s what Nehru meant, wasn’t it? ‘Ignorance is always afraid of change.’ But maybe it’s not just ignorance — maybe it’s instinct. We cling to what we know because it’s the only map we’ve got.”

Host: The lamp buzzed, its light shaking slightly as a moth circled it. Jack’s eyes followed it — a tiny, restless creature drawn to its own danger. The metaphor wasn’t lost on him.

Jeeny: “You call it instinct, I call it fear. They’re not the same. Instinct can protect you, but fear… it paralyzes. That’s the ignorance Nehru was talking about — not the lack of knowledge, but the refusal to see beyond the known.”

Jack: “You say that like it’s easy. But you’ve seen how people react when the world starts to shift. Every time something new threatens the old order, the ignorant don’t just resist — they attack. Look at Galileo. He proved that the Earth wasn’t the center of the universe, and the Church called him a heretic. That wasn’t just fear — it was defense.”

Jeeny: “Defense of what?”

Jack: “Control. Certainty. The illusion that they understood the universe. You take that away, and you take away their power.”

Host: The rain began again, lightly, rhythmically, like fingers drumming on the windowpane. The city glowed in the distance, a tangle of lights and motion, alive with change, even as the night whispered its resistance.

Jeeny: “But isn’t that the point? Every generation has its guardians of the old world — and its rebels who refuse to bow. That’s how we grow. How we’ve always grown.”

Jack: “You sound like you’re romanticizing it.”

Jeeny: “Maybe I am. But tell me, Jack — would we have revolutions, civil rights, or even democracy without that romance? Someone has to believe that change is worth the pain.”

Jack: “Belief is one thing. Naïveté is another.”

Host: Jack’s voice was like stone, firm, measured. But behind his grey eyes, there was a flicker — not of doubt, but of memory. He had once believed too.

Jeeny: “You’ve seen too much of the world, Jack. That’s your problem. You think pain is a sign of failure. But sometimes it’s just a sign of birth.”

Jack: “You really think humanity is still growing? We’ve been fighting the same wars, repeating the same mistakes, electing the same fools in different clothes. Change? It’s just the same wheel, turning again and again.”

Jeeny: “But every turn, Jack, is a little higher than the last. That’s what you’re missing. History doesn’t just circle, it spirals.”

Host: Her voice was soft, but it cut through the room like light through fog. Jack looked at her, the lines of his face hard, but his shoulders lowered, his breathing slowed.

Jack: “And what about the ignorant? What do we do with them? The ones who refuse to move? You can’t force someone to see the sunrise if they’re hiding under their blanket.”

Jeeny: “You don’t force them. You shine until they can’t ignore the light. That’s what leaders do. That’s what Nehru did — what every revolutionary does. They carry the torch even when the world calls them mad.”

Jack: “And half of them burn for it.”

Jeeny: “Yes. But the flame goes on.”

Host: The rain had grown heavier now, sheets of water rushing down the glass like the weight of old truths being washed away. Jeeny walked toward the table, her bare feet silent on the wooden floor. She picked up one of Jack’s papers, reading the scribbles and half-finished lines.

Jeeny: “You’re writing about the factory, aren’t you?”

Jack: “Trying to. They’re laying off a hundred workers next week. Automation, they say. ‘Efficiency,’ they call it. But to them, it’s progress; to the workers, it’s ruin.”

Jeeny: “That’s the same fear, Jack. The fear of being left behind. But it’s not ignorance to be afraid of losing your livelihood.”

Jack: “No, it’s not. But it’s ignorance to blame the machine instead of the system that uses it.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Change isn’t the enemy — the refusal to adapt is. And when fear becomes anger, that’s when ignorance turns dangerous.”

Host: The lamp dimmed, its light now a faint pulse. Outside, a thunderclap rolled across the sky. For a moment, neither of them spoke — the air was thick, charged with truth.

Jack: “You ever wonder why fear is so loud, Jeeny? It screams on every screen, marches in every protest, votes in every election. But wisdom — it whispers. Always whispers.”

Jeeny: “Because wisdom doesn’t need to convince. It just waits. Change doesn’t argue, Jack — it just arrives, and the ignorant have to decide whether to fight or learn.”

Jack: “And most of them fight.”

Jeeny: “At first. But not forever. Every tyrant, every closed mind, every system built on fear eventually crumbles — not because it’s destroyed, but because it’s outgrown.”

Host: The storm was breaking now. The rain began to slow, each drop landing with the soft finality of resolution. Jack stood, walking to the window, his reflection now clearer in the glass.

Jack: “You really think ignorance fades that way — by being outgrown?”

Jeeny: “It has to. Ignorance is a shadow, Jack. It doesn’t die, it just disappears when the light gets stronger.”

Jack: “And what if the light burns?”

Jeeny: “Then maybe it’s worth the pain.”

Host: Jack laughed, a low, tired sound, but not mocking — more like release. The lamp flickered one last time, then steadied. Jeeny turned to him, her eyes bright, her expression gentle but unyielding.

Jack: “You know, for someone so small, you carry a lot of fire.”

Jeeny: “That’s what keeps the dark away.”

Host: Outside, the first hint of dawn appeared on the horizon — a thin, golden line breaking through the clouds. The storm had passed, but its echo still lingered in the air, like a promise.

Jack and Jeeny stood in the window’s light, their faces half in shadow, half in sunrise — the old and the new, ignorance and understanding, fear and faith, all coexisting in that fragile moment.

Host: And as the sun rose, painting the world in light, Nehru’s words seemed to breathe through the room — not as a warning, but as a reminder:

“Ignorance is always afraid of change.”

And yet, the world always changes, anyway.