Hmmm...

I was invited to a college to speak about women and where to draw a line, or should we even draw one at all. I did not carry slides. I did not carry statistics. I told them a story. I asked them to listen, not as students, but as people. I said, listen carefully. Rishab and Aryan came from a powerful family in Uttar Pradesh. Old money. Old control. When they moved to Bangalore, the city made space for them easily. Doors opened before they knocked. "Rain Tree" became their home. A place where power lived behind tall walls and polite smiles. Inside those walls, names mattered more than behaviour. They were never questioned. Next to that gated world lived another family. Tribal by roots. Quiet, grounded, but ambitious. They believed in slow growth and honest work. Among them was Naina and her two brothers, Kabir and Veer. Kabir observed before he acted. Veer reacted before he thought. Naina was free spirited and open. She reached for what she wanted without fear. Well educated, ...

  Jayshree was in her early sixties, living in a house that looked like a postcard. Waves breaking just outside her gate. Soft wind floating through the windows. Every evening the sky turned orange as if the whole world was painted fresh for her. She had everything people dream of — peace, comfort, money, freedom. She had no one to share it with. Life had once been full. She and Suresh had worked side by side, counting every rupee, building every wall of that house with hope. When he laughed, the house felt warm. When he left the world with that sudden heart attack, it felt like the walls turned cold overnight. Her sons, Sunny and Bobby, lived far away in Europe. Good families. Good jobs. They loved her, called her every week, begged her to come and live with them. But each time she visited them, she felt small. No friends. No freedom to move around. No familiar language. She sat alone all day waiting for them to return from work. It made her feel like a guest in her own life. So s...

For the last many years, I have been writing only one thing in my blog and on LinkedIn. India’s real strength is not IT. Not manufacturing. Not startups. It is manpower. People laughed at me. Some got angry. Some said I am negative. Some said I do not understand the new India. And today, suddenly, the government proudly signs agreements to send thousands of Indians to other countries as workers. And they call it diplomacy. Now everyone is clapping. And I am sitting quietly and smiling. Because now it is official. India is the world’s most organised manpower supply company. Recently, we signed a big agreement with Russia to send workers. Construction, IT, textiles, everything. Around seventy thousand people in one go. That is not migration. That is not opportunity. That is export. A full moving township of Indians. We are not exporting products. We are exporting people. What a vision. We could not become number one in manufacturing. We could not become number one in innovation. We ...

Last couple of weeks I have been travelling a lot. Which means living in hotels and eating in restaurants became unavoidable. And somewhere between my second coffee and third buffet breakfast, I noticed something strange. Food has changed. Or maybe we have. In the late 90's and early 2000, when we travelled, every city had its own taste. Coimbatore tasted like Coimbatore. Bangalore tasted like Bangalore. Hyderabad had its own magic. Delhi had its own spice. Today, no matter where you go, in any decent, reasonable hotel, the taste feels more or less the same. Same gravy. Same masala. Same presentation. Even if you order local cuisine, it feels like a copy of a copy. I feel all chefs are now learning from the same recipe book and just reproducing it like an assembly line. Earlier every restaurant had a signature style. Today I struggle to remember one place and say, this taste is only from here. It feels like food has become a product, not an experience. Even at home, I see the sa...

I was having my tea the other morning, sitting on one of the small shacks near my construction site. A teenage girl walked past and waited at the bus stop across the road. It was clear something was special for her that day. Maybe her birthday, maybe an event in school. She kept adjusting her hair and her dress, and from the corner of her eye she checked if anyone was noticing her. That small moment pulled me into a long thought. Who are we when nobody is watching? I realised how often we live our life like someone is always looking at us. As if there is a stage, lights, and a crowd waiting to judge our next move. I lived that way too. Every smile measured, every word chosen, every silence planned. I knew how to act in rooms, how to fit in, how to be liked. What I did not see then was how temporary habits become permanent masks. Slowly the mask sticks so tight that one day you forget how your real face even looks. The mask was supposed to be something I take off when I feel safe. But a...

I am sure many who grew up in the seventies , eighties and nineties will relate to this. Summer vacations were not travel plans or resort bookings. We went to a relative’s house for a few days, and after that the long stretch of holidays was completely on us. No schedules, no outings, no classes. Just long empty days staring at us, and we had to decide how to kill our boredom. Most homes had no tv. Even if there was one, it came on only for a fixed time. Till then the house would be silent, except for the pressure cooker whistle, someone sweeping the floor, or neighbours calling each other from window to window. So we found our own fun. Pulling out old magazines, tearing pictures and sticking them in a scrap book . Using colour pencils to draw anything that came to mind. Reading the same old book again because that was the only book at home. And waiting for evening, because that is when the whole lane came out to play. The sound of someone shouting, “Come down, we are starting t...

I was at my construction site one morning and what I found was that every single worker there was from Bihar or from the nearby belt. Men who had travelled hundreds of kilometres, leaving behind their families, their land, and their comfort. Faces burnt by the sun, but eyes full of quiet strength. That same day, I had called a landscape designer to finalise the deal. While talking, he mentioned his years in the Middle East. He said he had worked there for more than twenty years before moving back to start his own firm here. That is when something hit me hard. What Bihar is for India, India is for the world. The same story, just a different level. The same effort, only the distance changes. People from Bihar and the nearby states carry the weight of our cities. They build our homes, clean our roads, cook our food, and work in silence. Many times we see them, but we don’t really look at them. We talk about them as a group, never as people with dreams. Now look at us, the larger pict...

There is something about the night that always feels different. From our childhood days, we have all felt it in some way. Remember those evenings when we would sneak out with friends after dinner, just to walk down the same roads we travelled every day? In the daylight, those roads felt ordinary. But at night, they became something else. The air felt cooler, the shadows longer, and the silence louder. There was a strange mix of fear and excitement. You know the road like the back of your hand, yet in the night, it feels like you are discovering it for the first time. And then there are nights when you walk hand in hand with someone you love. The same street, the same sky, but somehow the stars seem closer, the breeze feels softer, and every silence speaks more than words can. The world slows down a little, and you just exist in that moment. So what is it about the night that makes everything feel so special? Maybe it is because the noise of the world fades away, and what remains is yo...

Fresh Tea It was a lazy Sunday morning. The kind of day when you have no big plans, just a few things lying around waiting to be done. Meera was cleaning the cupboard in their bedroom, pulling out old files, boxes, and a pile of forgotten memories. Rajesh walked in with two cups of tea. “Looks like a war zone here. Need a soldier?” he said with a smile. She laughed and nodded. As they sat together, going through old photographs and birthday cards , the room was filled with laughter and warmth. Then, from one of the boxes, Meera took out a small, gift-wrapped pen . Her smile faded. “This is the pen you brought for your boss, right?” she asked softly. Rajesh looked at it. “Yes, I think so. Why?” “You remember that fight we had after that? You said you forgot my birthday that year because of office work. But you didn’t forget to buy this pen,” she said, her tone turning sharp. Rajesh sighed. “Meera, that was fifteen years ago.” “Yes, but it still hurts,” she whispered. “You alway...

After so many years, Natraj took the pain of finding each one from his intermediate batch and created a WhatsApp group. The group was buzzing from day one. “Hey, where are you now?” “Still in Delhi.” “Wow, after 34 years, can’t believe I’m talking to you again.” Everyone wanted to know how their classmates were doing. Each time a new person joined, the group would light up. There was teasing, laughter, old incidents shared, and plenty of photos from the past. Slowly the group grew to around 120 people. Then Pinky from Mumbai suggested, “This is our 35th year of passing. Why don’t we all meet up for a reunion?” The group went wild. “Yes, let’s do it.” “I’m in.” “June is perfect.” People started posting pictures of their tickets. “NZ confirmed!” “Canada done!” “South Africa booking.” The Hyderabad friends took the responsibility of hosting. Close to 100 people showed up. Laughter, music, drinks, dance — it felt like college all over again. No one looked like they were 50 plus. By evening...

Today is Onam. A harvest festival that has such deep meaning in Kerala’s culture and history. Yet, when I scroll through conversations and posts, what I mostly see is talk about the sadhya and the new clothes. The feast is grand and the outfits are beautiful, but is that all we want to pass on to the next generation? The real value of Onam was never just about what is on the plate or in the wardrobe. It was about unity, equality, and gratitude for nature’s blessings. This is not just about Onam. Think of other festivals we celebrate. Ganesh festival rituals never asked for loud music or massive processions. Deepavali never demanded deafening crackers, it was meant to be about lighting your home. Dandiya was about community joy, not blasting speakers all night. Burning the effigy of Ravan in Dussehra, carrying out tazias in Moharram, or decorating trees at Christmas all had meaning and purpose. But what have we turned them into today. If we can burst crackers for IPL wins or weddings, t...

In our service industry, we often meet clients who carry their ego on their sleeves. Recently, I had an incident that reminded me why I choose to stay calm. I was in a group chat with my team and the client. As usual, the client’s tone was not very cordial. Every explanation my team gave was treated like a challenge. It was very clear that the mistake was on the client’s side. I could see my team getting frustrated, and even their language was starting to show it. Before things could heat up, I stepped in and told the client that we would sort it out and just needed some time. A couple of hours later, the client messaged saying the matter was resolved on their side. Ironically, that was exactly what my team had been trying to explain to them from the start. That weekend, during our team meeting, they asked me, “Why do you never lose your cool? Why don’t you put your points aggressively?” I told them there are many reasons for that, and I want to share them here. 1. Winning the moment v...

  The news that ICICI Bank has raised the minimum balance requirement to ₹50,000 in urban centres while setting different slabs for other areas might sound like a routine corporate decision. But scratch the surface and you will see something far more dangerous: the rise of a modern-day caste system disguised as “policy.” When you say a city resident must park ₹50,000 just to keep an account alive, you are doing more than managing finances. You are deciding who is “worthy” of banking and who is not. You are saying that convenience, safety, and financial dignity belong only to those who already have more. This is not just about one bank. It is about a mindset. The same mindset that once decided who could enter certain temples, who could sit in which part of a classroom, who could drink from which well is now deciding who gets access to the simplest financial services. We have seen this before in many forms: • Credit cards with “Platinum” and “Black” labels, not for better service...

These days, whether it's a simple conversation between two people at home or a political argument on TV, one thing has become too common. Blaming others has become our first reaction. We don’t even stop for a second to think what the other person is actually trying to say. Take a normal situation at home. If one partner says, I felt uncomfortable with your family’s behaviour, the immediate reply will be, should I start talking about your family too? Or say someone brings up something like, off late you’ve been spending a lot. You already know what kind of reaction that gets. The focus shifts from the concern to a personal attack. The issue just disappears. This habit has gone beyond homes. In friendships, at work, and also in politics. Look at how things work in our country. The moment someone raises a real concern, like rising prices, unemployment, or law and order, the answer is never let’s work on it. The reply is always something like, you also did the same when you were in pow...

  Comfort Is Not the Enemy People keep saying this — “Where there is comfort, there is no growth.” But I never believed that. And I still don’t. My best work happens when I am comfortable. When I am in my zone, with my tools, sitting at my own desk. I have seen it again and again in my life. Let me tell you what happened once. Someone thought they were doing me a favour by giving me a “challenge”. They moved me to a new office. Big open space, strange smell, noisy, everyone walking around, nothing in place. They said this will help me adapt, help me discover new energy, push me out of my comfort zone. What really happened? I spent the whole day just looking for my pen, getting distracted by the chatter, and waiting for the day to end. I was not growing. a few month latter I was just irritated. That day I understood something very clearly. Growth does not always mean breaking yourself. It can also mean building yourself quietly, in a space that feels right to you. It’s the ...

I’ve always wondered if chasing big goals is actually making people feel worse. Over time, I learned something simpler and more powerful and it changed my life. For a long time, wherever I read books or listened to self help talks, there was always so much focus on setting goals. Everybody kept saying, write down your big goals, chase them, push yourself. But somehow, it never felt right to me. In fact, I started feeling that this is the reason why many people around me feel low, frustrated or even lost. I have always believed something else. I feel if you just set the right intention every day, you will reach wherever you are meant to reach. Goals feel like a burden sometimes, but intentions feel lighter. They keep you moving without that heavy pressure. I have seen this in my own life. At work, when I kept saying I must become this or earn that much in a year, I was always anxious. The day I decided to just show up every day, do my work well, help people around me and learn something...

There are leadership lessons everywhere. Some come from books. Some from boardrooms. But the most powerful ones, I feel, come from watching people rise… and then fall. Let me tell you a story. From someone you’ve all heard about: Smriti Irani. Now, many know her as a former Union Minister, a firebrand speaker, someone who defeated Rahul Gandhi in Amethi. Some remember her from the saas-bahu days on TV. Others see her today; a bit more silent, no longer in the political spotlight, and facing a lot of public criticism. But this isn’t about politics. This is about leadership. This is about what her story can teach us, not just from her success, but from what followed.  Smriti Irani started small. Really small. Worked at McDonald’s. Tried modeling. Faced rejections. No industry contacts, no godfather, no backup plan. But she kept going. And that’s something to admire. She reinvented herself as an actor, became one of the most recognized faces in Indian households. And then, once again,...