Cricket, Goosebumps, and a Scooter on a Quiet Street

Cricket has given me many unforgettable moments over the years, but the ones that stay with me most are the moments that gave me goosebumps. Moments filled with disbelief, joy, tension, pride, relief, and sometimes even tears. Many of them were famous victories, some achieved against all odds, and each of them left behind memories that still feel vivid even today.

And strangely, one of the most special goosebump moments I have experienced related to cricket did not happen during a match at all. It happened much later, on a quiet street, after a famous Indian victory. Even today, whenever I think about that moment, it feels almost unreal.

My relationship with cricket began relatively late. I truly started following the game around the 1992 World Cup. But once the cricket bug bit me, it became a lifelong passion. Since then, cricket has become deeply intertwined with friendships, celebrations, heartbreaks, family moments, and memories of growing up.

The matches and innings I mention here are based purely on top-of-the-mind recall and are in no particular order. I am sure I may have missed several special performances and unforgettable moments that evoked equally strong emotions over the years. But these are the ones that instantly come rushing back whenever I think about cricket and what it has meant to me emotionally.

The 2002 NatWest Final against England remains one of the defining moments of Indian cricket for me. I was pursuing my MBA then and staying in a flat with friends. After Sachin Tendulkar got out, many of us lost hope and some even left. But a few of us stayed back as Mohammad Kaif and Yuvraj Singh slowly pulled off the impossible. As India edged closer, the same friends began returning one by one. I firmly believe the victory changed Indian cricket.

There was the famous Silver Jubilee Independence Cup final in Dhaka in 1998, when Hrishikesh Kanitkar hit the winning boundary against Pakistan off the penultimate ball. I still remember running barefoot onto the streets after the win. We burst crackers, danced, and celebrated like the entire city belonged to us.

Sachin Tendulkar’s back-to-back centuries in Sharjah against Australia in 1998 still feel unreal in my memory. I remember sitting in front of the television...completely stunned. It felt less like cricket and more like witnessing something magical. Every shot carried a kind of authority and beauty that is impossible to fully describe even today.

VVS Laxman’s 281 against Australia at Eden Gardens in 2001 was another unforgettable experience. There have been bigger innings in Test cricket history, but I do not think I have ever seen a more beautiful innings. The partnership that Laxman and Rahul Dravid stitched together was not just great cricket - it was resistance, artistry, and belief unfolding together. They simply refused to surrender.

Sachin Tendulkar’s unbeaten 241 at Sydney in 2004 is another innings deeply etched into my memory. Many people had started writing him off then because of low scores and a visible pattern in his dismissals. Then came that masterpiece of discipline and control. I remember crying when he reached his double century.

And then, of course, came the 2011 World Cup victory. Like millions of Indians, I wanted India to win but I also wanted India to win for Sachin Tendulkar. The man had been waiting for a lifetime. When India finally lifted the trophy after 28 years, it felt deeply personal.

Virat Kohli’s unbelievable innings against Pakistan at the MCG in 2022, and India’s historic Gabba win in 2021 are all memories that still give me goosebumps.

And above all, as a lifelong Royal Challengers Bangalore supporter, the 2025 IPL victory remains deeply emotional. After 18 long years of waiting, heartbreaks, near misses, trolling, and endless jokes, RCB finally lifted their maiden IPL trophy. It felt like emotional closure after nearly two decades of loyalty and hope.

But despite all these unforgettable matches and innings, one of my most cherished cricket memories did not happen during a match.

It happened after one.

It was after the 2003 ICC World Cup match between India and Pakistan in Centurion. Sachin Tendulkar’s unforgettable 98 against a terrifying Pakistani pace attack - that included Shoaib Akhtar, Wasim Akram and Waqar Younis - led India to victory in one of the most emotionally charged matches Indian cricket fans have ever witnessed. Like millions of Indians, I was ecstatic.

After the match ended, I took out my two-wheeler and went to a friend’s place. From there, we went to another flat where a few of our friends were staying together. I wanted all of us to step out and celebrate the victory properly. I wanted everyone to take out their two-wheelers and ride towards Hussain Sagar in Hyderabad.

But, apart from me, everyone was reluctant.

“Do we really need to go out?” some of them said. The match was over. The excitement, for them, was already beginning to settle.

We were still standing outside on a dimly lit street when something happened that I can never forget.

Out of nowhere, a scooter slowly appeared from the other end of the road. A Sardarji was riding it. His young son was standing in front of him. His daughter was standing at the back seat, holding an Indian tricolour in her hand. And all three of them were shouting:

“Indiaaaaa… India!”

The street was still mostly quiet. No one else was celebrating...at least in that part of the town. But this family did not care. They were celebrating as if India had won the World Cup.

There was something magical about that sight.

Even today, whenever I see the Indian tricolour flying, it gives me goosebumps. But that moment felt different. For those few seconds, it did not even feel real. There was something incredibly pure about that sight - almost divine.

I can never forget the sight of still the little girl standing fearlessly on the back seat of the scooter, waving the flag proudly into the night while holding onto her father’s shoulder. I still remember the father driving carefully, slowly, protectively. I still remember the energy in their voices as they shouted “Indiaaaaa… India!”

It was such an ordinary scene. And yet, it captured something extraordinary.

I immediately pointed towards them and told my reluctant friends, “Look at them!....Shame on you guys!!”

That sight changed everything. Within minutes, all of us took out our vehicles and headed towards Hussain Sagar. The entire city had come alive by then. Necklace Road was overflowing with people. Roads were jam-packed. Thousands had gathered to celebrate India’s victory. The celebrations that night were unforgettable.

But even today, years later, what remains with me most vividly is not the crowd, not the noise, not even Sachin’s innings.

It is that one scooter in a dimly lit street.

A Sikh father. Two happy children. A waving tricolour.

And three voices shouting into the night: “Indiaaaaa… India...”

One Rule for Kohli, Another for SKY?

When Virat Kohli retired from T20 internationals after India’s 2024 T20 World Cup victory, many (including yours truly) believed the decision was not entirely voluntary but was also influenced by the Board of Control for Cricket in India (BCCI) and the team management’s desire to transition toward a younger T20 side. Though I was sad, the reasoning sounded logical and not out of place. I had the same opinion. T20 cricket has evolved into an extremely aggressive format where, these days, even 200 is no longer considered safe. I recall when Manish Pandey scored the century in IPL in 2009, the total team score was around 160 runs and it was considered a good score back then. Players from Kohli’s generation had to adapt to this format later in their careers, whereas today’s youngsters are growing up naturally suited to this style of cricket.

That is why Kohli’s retirement, while emotional, did not feel entirely unreasonable. The argument was simple - T20 cricket is now a young man’s game, and India must prepare the next generation. 

But...if that was truly the philosophy...and there was no ulterior motive...then the same standards must apply to everyone equally. Which brings us to the curious case of Suryakumar Yadav aka SKY.

SKY is currently 35 years old, the exact same age Kohli was when he stepped away from T20Is. If age and transition were the criteria then, how can they suddenly stop mattering now? The argument cannot change based on convenience or personal preferences within the system. If players like Bhuvneshwar Kumar or Mohammed Shami are no longer seriously considered for T20 cricket largely because of age and long-term planning, then the same logic must also apply to SKY. Selection policies cannot have different versions for different individuals.

Some may argue that SKY must continue because in March this year, India won the last T20 World Cup under his captaincy. But if success is the yardstick, then Kohli should never have been nudged toward retirement in the first place. He retired immediately after India won a T20 World Cup and after being the Man of the Match in the final. More importantly, his recent IPL performances clearly show that he still has plenty to offer to T20 cricket. If a player performing at that level could be moved aside in the name of transition, then success alone cannot suddenly become the justification for extending someone else’s T20 career.

This is not about disrespecting SKY or denying his contribution to Indian cricket. It is about consistency and fairness in selection philosophy. In few months, SKY would be 36 years old. India has enough young talent emerging every IPL season to build the next T20 core. If the management truly believes that the future of T20 cricket belongs to younger players, then that principle must apply uniformly, irrespective of success, captaincy, dressing-room influence, or proximity to the current leadership. Otherwise, the message becomes very clear - some players are asked to move on because of policy, while others continue because of preference.

The 'Divine Light' is Guiding Your Wife

Dear Jagdev,

The day I wrote that blog (The Laughter, The Arguments, The Regret and The Relief) about you, something strange happened. I suddenly realized that I had your mother’s phone number saved on my phone. I do not remember when I got the number or how long it had been sitting there quietly in my contacts. I did not even know whether the number was still active, whether she was still in India or whether she had moved abroad to stay with one of your sisters.

After thinking about it for a while, I decided to call. And to my relief, she picked up.

I gave her a brief background. I told her that you and I were classmates in school and that I had met her a couple of times between 1994 and 1996. Naturally, she did not remember me. Why would she? I was just another boy from your school days. Tall, intelligent, good looking (all that just in my mind) but just another boy. 

I told her that I had only called to check how she was doing. And suddenly she started crying uncontrollably. Honestly, that shook me. I am sorry to make your mother cry.

Somewhere in my mind, very foolishly, I had assumed that after all these years the pain would have softened a little. But listening to her cry, I immediately understood something that perhaps only parents understand fully - time may teach people how to continue living, but it does not erase loss.

After a while she handed the phone to your elder sister. We spoke briefly. It was a polite and slightly awkward conversation because she too did not really recall me.

After disconnecting the call, I sent them the blog I had written about you. Along with it, I requested if they would be comfortable sharing the contact details of your sisters and your wife.

There was no immediate response. And honestly, that was understandable. They were probably wondering who I was - someone who had suddenly called after decades, spoken emotionally about you and then shared a web link. In today’s world, where people are naturally cautious, I could understand their hesitation completely.

Then today, two days later, I received a few messages from your mother’s number. They were probably sent by your elder sister. She had read the blog and commented warmly about it. And then she shared the contact numbers of your younger sister...and your wife!

I could not stop myself from immediately messaging your wife on WhatsApp.

I introduced myself and shared some background. She too was understandably cautious in the beginning. In fact, one of the first things she asked me was how I had got her number. Sadly, the sheer number of spam calls and random messages people receive these days has made everyone naturally suspicious of unknown callers, especially from India.

I explained how I had received her number through your family and that probably calmed her nerves a little. I asked her how she was doing and how your daughter was doing. She shared a couple of pictures of your daughter. After that we exchanged a few more messages. Then I shared the blog I had written about you.

She read it. And asked me if she could call me.

Honestly, while I genuinely wanted to connect with your family, I was not expecting that at all. Somewhere in my mind I had assumed they may feel uncomfortable speaking to a stranger from your distant school days.

So when she asked if she could call, I was pleasantly surprised. And then we had a video call.

She was there. And so was your daughter. And for the first time, I spoke to her.

Noor. Which means 'Divine Light'. Such a beautiful name. 

It was a lovely and emotional interaction speaking to your wife and daughter. Your wife was very emotional and, so was I. Life without you has clearly not been easy for them, but your wife is doing an exceptional job raising Noor. Noor is extremely pretty, bright, graceful and doing really well. She is growing into a wonderful, confident and lovely young lady who will make both her parents immensely proud. I told her that you often talked about her and you loved her a lot. 

While writing this, I am thinking that somewhere, somehow, you must already know all this. You must already be watching them with pride.

And today, after speaking to them, I felt something I have not felt in a very long time whenever I thought about you...

Relief. A deep sense of relief. As if a large rock - almost my size - has finally been lifted off my chest. I am so happy!

I will stay in touch with them and, like always, they will remain in my prayers. If they ever need me, I will always try to help in whatever way I can.

God bless you, my friend. And God bless your family.

After the World Goes Quiet...

Someone shared these lines with me recently, and they resonated with me deeply.

These days, I find it difficult to sleep. When the day ends and everyone retires to bed, the night and the silence sit beside me and give me company. They know too much. The thoughts we avoid during the noise of the day. The things I never say out loud.

I dread the silence, because when the world finally goes quiet, it becomes unbearably loud.

The Name Crisis

A couple of days back, I was chatting with my schoolmate Gandharv on WhatsApp. Gandharv and I studied together in Class 12th. To be precise, we attended class 12th together as neither of us studied!! Ours was a friendship built on bunking classes, mischief in school, shared academic irresponsibility and the continuous agony of our respective parents.

I have written about Gandharv earlier this year in my blog post titled, 'A Tale of Two Soft Drinks: A Heist Gone Wrong.' He now lives in Dehradun with his family.

Back to the incident. Gandharv needed my suggestion on something and we were exchanging messages. In the middle of the conversation, I wanted to mention his daughter's name. Only trouble was that I could not remember her name!!

In my defence, I have met his wife and daughter only once. But this is not normal for me. I am usually pretty good with names. Yet my brain had suddenly transformed into a server from 1997. No matter how much I tried, I simply could not recall her name. And I felt awkward to ask him. What kind of question is this, "what is your daughter's name?" Friends should not be asking this question.

In desperation, I turned to my wife. Women are generally better at remembering such things. Birthdays, names, what someone wore in 2014, exact wording used during an argument six years ago… they remember everything.

So, with a lot of hope, I asked, “What is the name of Gandharv’s daughter’s?” But, like most times in my life when I seek useful assistance, she was of no help.

I did not know what to do. And then, my eyes fell upon my daughter!

Now this creature possesses a very unique talent. She can remember absolutely anything and everything, provided it has no connection whatsoever with academics. So I asked...again with a lot of hope..., “What is the name of Gandharv Uncle’s daughter?”

Without blinking. Without hesitation. Without even taking half a second. She confidently replied, “Pahal.”

The speed and certainty of the answer gave it unquestionable authority. This was not a guess. This was “I know EXACTLY what I am talking about” kind of confidence!

I felt immediate relief. My wife was stunned...because my daughter had met Gandharv and his family only once and that too in 2018...when she was seven years old! Naturally, my wife immediately switched to sarcasm mode (also her default mode): "So you are able to remember this but you cannot....blah blah blah blah blah"

Like always, I stopped listening. I was too busy feeling proud of my genetically gifted offspring.

I immediately typed my message to Gandharv and included his daughter’s name with full confidence. Message sent.

Then came Gandharv’s reply. “Yeh Pahal kaun hai bey?" ("Who is Pahal?”)

I froze. I stared at the message for a few seconds. Then I slowly turned toward my daughter.

“You gave me the WRONG name?!!”

My wife, who like always derives tremendous joy whenever I embarrass myself, had already started giggling uncontrollably. I was giving a dirty look to my daughter.

And then came her response. The greatest question ever asked in human history. With absolute nonchalance...

“Who is Gandharv Uncle?”

At that moment, it became clear to me. She has no clue. None whatsoever!

Mankind is making so much progress. Artificial Intelligence, quantum computing, reusable rockets, UPI payments… but all are pale in comparison to the confidence with which children can give completely wrong information.

I cursed myself for trusting this space cadet....and asked Gandharv,"what is your daughter's name?" 

The Laughter, The Arguments, The Regret and The Relief

My first memory of Jagdev goes back to Class 10 in school in Ranchi.

The session had already started a few weeks back and one of the classes was going on when a teacher walked into the classroom with a very lean, quiet Sikh boy and asked him to take a seat. That was Jagdev. If my memory is not failing me, he was wearing all whites - so maybe it was a Saturday - and had a green patka (A patka is a smaller, simpler form of turban worn by Sikh boys and sometimes by Sikh men during sports or casual activities).

To everybody’s amusement, instead of sitting in the boys’ section, Jagdev crossed the entire width of the classroom - straight to the first bench in the girls’ row - and sat there calmly. The entire class found it hilarious. Jagdev, however, looked completely unfazed.

I do not think we became friends immediately. In fact, when I think back about Class 10, I do not remember too many incidents involving him and me together. We must have been cordial - like everybody else in the class - but not particularly close.

He stayed in the main Dipatoli military cantonment on the outskirts of Ranchi and I stayed in the officers’ quarters in the middle of Ranchi. I am not even sure whether those were technically separate cantonments or part of the same military establishment. The two places were several kilometers apart and, in those days, friendships depended heavily on physical proximity. There were no mobile phones, no internet and no social media. Once school ended, everybody disappeared into their own part of the city.

Things changed a little in Class 11 when both of us joined the Commerce section. Ours was a smaller section with around fifteen or sixteen students while the Science and Arts sections were much larger. Smaller groups naturally create more interaction.

I started visiting his house occasionally. His family was warm and welcoming. His father had risen to officer rank in the army and they lived in officers’ quarters. Jagdev had sisters and he was the only son in the family. I could sense that he was deeply loved and probably the most naughty and pampered member of the household.

He was introverted. He spoke very little. But whenever he did say something, it was either unintentionally funny or unintentionally awkward.

And sometimes both.

The Haircut

One of my strongest memories from school involves Jagdev and a very unfortunate haircut.

When Jagdev had joined the school in Class 10, he used to wear a patka. At that point, like most Sikh boys from traditional families, he had long hair and had probably never imagined cutting it.

Then suddenly one day he decided to chop it all off. I still remember him telling me that with his hair gone, he was probably no longer welcome at his grandfather’s house in Punjab.

Why did he do it? I honestly do not know. Maybe he wanted to blend in better with the rest of us. Maybe he was tired of standing out. Or maybe, like most teenage boys, he thought a new hairstyle would dramatically improve his appeal among girls. High hopes!! That did not happen at all.

Initially, everything was fine. After the first few days, everyone got used to seeing Jagdev without a patka or turban. The novelty faded away and life moved on.

And then fashion happened.

Back in those days, a particular hairstyle had become extremely popular. Boys kept their hair longer on top while shaving or trimming the sides and the back almost to zero. Jagdev decided to go for it.

The result was unforgettable.

Since his scalp had remained covered by long hair and a turban throughout his life, suddenly exposing it fully revealed skin that was unbelievably white. It looked so strange and unexpected that the entire class found it hilarious. Even teachers commented on it. It made Jagdev awkward and conscious.

The next day, however, something miraculous happened.

Jagdev entered the classroom and his scalp looked completely normal. The shocking whiteness had disappeared overnight. For a brief moment we were genuinely wondering how he had managed that....Till he started sweating.

Slowly, very slowly, thin black streams began appearing near the sides of his head. That is when we realized the truth. To darken the exposed white skin, Jagdev had applied black liquid shoe polish all over his scalp. And now, because of sweat, the polish had started dripping down. People laughed uncontrollably. Even Jagdev eventually saw the funny side of it and started laughing himself.

Even today, after so many years, the incident brings a smile to my face.

Another thing that I remember from that entire haircut disaster is that Jagdev started getting a lot of flak from teachers for his new hairstyle. So, in what we believed was a great act of friendship and solidarity, some of us decided that we too would get the same haircut. I do not remember how many actually went through with it, but I definitely did. The hairstyle looked ridiculous on us. I blame the barber.

Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge

Another memory from those days is when he suddenly came to my house and insisted that I accompany him for a movie. The movie was Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge.

Both of us had already watched it, but he wanted to watch it again. He had truly loved the movie while I had found it just “okay”. So I was a little reluctant, but looking at his enthusiasm I joined him. He watched the movie like a complete fanboy and lived every moment of it. I could make out that the movie had made a significant impact on him. That remains one of my key memories of Jagdev from school days.

Shared Stupidity

There were also the usual immature school incidents that now seem ridiculous and funny in hindsight.

Once Jagdev made a remark to one of the girls in our class which offended her badly. She was furious enough to complain to our class teacher, who also happened to teach us Accountancy.

Now this particular teacher already disliked our group because we bunked his class quite regularly. So the moment he realized he finally had a legitimate reason to thrash one of us, he arrived in the classroom with the speed and aggression of a man who had been waiting for this opportunity for months.

Back then teachers could thrash students and easily get away with it. In fact, many parents probably considered it part of a teacher’s responsibilities. Nobody questioned it too much. Sometimes I miss those days (this is for a specific reader..my daughter)!

Until the teacher stormed into the classroom, most of us had absolutely no idea what Jagdev had done. The teacher entered, walked straight up to Jagdev and slapped him immediately before even beginning the lecture. The entire classroom froze for a second. Then he announced to everybody what Jagdev had apparently said to the girl.

The girls in class were scandalized. The boys - like boys - found the entire thing hilarious.

There stood our friend getting thrashed while the rest of us idiots struggled desperately to suppress our laughter. Some were giggling with heads down. Some were hiding behind notebooks pretending to be serious. We all ran the risk of becoming the next target.

School friendships are strange. At that age affection rarely expresses itself through emotional conversations or loyalty. More often it hides itself behind mockery, laughter, leg-pulling and shared stupidity.

Lost Touch

After Class 11, Jagdev left school. His father got transferred to Delhi (if I am not mistaken) and, like countless friendships in army/cantonment life, we lost touch completely. That was normal in the 1990s and before. People vanished from your life without closure. My father served in the army and I had already experienced this cycle repeatedly while growing up.

Reconnect-Disconnect-Repeat

Years later, social media happened.

Somewhere around 2012 or 2013, old classmates found each other again on Facebook and WhatsApp.

Jagdev was in Australia by then, living with his wife and daughter and working with Harvey Norman. I was in Malaysia with my own family.

Unfortunately, adulthood had changed all of us. In school we bonded over jokes, cricket, movies, girls and harmless stupidity. Now everybody had political opinions.

Jagdev and I often found ourselves on opposite sides politically. Initially the debates were manageable, but gradually they became personal and unpleasant. He would sometimes comment aggressively on my posts or on posts by some of my friends or colleagues, even though he did not know them personally. Heated exchanges became common.

To be honest, even in school we were never inseparable friends. After reconnecting online, we were more like old batchmates rediscovering each other.

Yet, when he blocked me on Facebook after one argument, I found it deeply strange. I could never understand how school friendships could become casualties of political disagreements.

Then one day he disappeared from the WhatsApp group too. For a couple of years, we did not interact.

Then one day in 2016, I randomly called him.

I have noticed something strange about myself over the years. I can remain angry with someone for a long time, but eventually the specifics fade away. That is a good habit in me. Unless I have felt insulted, I forget about the specifics of any argument or fight. I do not recall who said what. That makes it easy to overcome any bitterness. Sometimes all it takes is one normal conversation to rebuild a bridge.

That day I was sitting at KL Sentral in Kuala Lumpur when I decided to call Jagdev.

We spoke for a very long time. He spoke about spirituality and about a Guruji he had started following. He said he sometimes felt like leaving everything behind and staying in an ashram. He had actually discussed it with his Guruji but was discouraged from doing so. 

I asked him if everything is alright.

He told me that his marriage was going through a difficult phase. His wife had moved out and was staying separately with their daughter. I do not know the full story and therefore I cannot judge what happened between them. I told him that while I do not know the specifics, it seems that the issue is not something that cannot be resolved through communication and understanding. 

During the conversation, what I could clearly sense was the pain of separation from his wife and especially his child. Jagdev came across as a sensitive person and he sounded emotionally shattered. I realized for the first time how deeply he loved his daughter. 

I believe that daughters change men. They make even strong men vulnerable in the gentlest possible way.

That conversation affected me deeply and I prayed for him.

In the months that followed, he again went into a shell and unfortunately we again lost touch. I did try to reach him a few times but could not.

Regret

Probably the first time I regretted a social media argument was sometime in 2017.

Years earlier he had unfriended and blocked me after a political argument. Later he had again sent me a friend request on Facebook. I ignored it. Not because of ego. Not because I hated him. I think I simply felt hurt that somebody could throw away an old school connection over silly online debates.

Now I realize I was being equally silly.

In mid-2017, I got the news that Jagdev had passed away in a motorcycle accident in Punjab. It was a hit-and-run case. 

He was visiting his family in India. During his trip, he bought a motorcycle and had taken it out for a ride at night. A car hit him and sped away. He lay injured on the road for some time before help arrived. (source: a friend of Jagdev, who I reached out on Facebook when I heard the unfortunate news)

And just like that, a school friend was gone...forever.

Honestly, when I heard about his death, grief was not the only emotion I felt. I felt regret for losing touch. I felt regret for not accepting his friend request. I felt regret for not speaking to him more often.

But, above all, what haunted me most was the thought of his daughter. In 2017 she was just a toddler. I kept thinking that when she grows up, she may not even remember her father’s face clearly. She may never fully know how much he loved her.

And that thought broke something inside me. That silly argument and not accepting his friend request haunts me and will haunt me forever.

I made a silent promise to myself that if I ever get to connect with his daughter, I would tell her that her father truly loved her and cared for her deeply.

Relief

A few weeks ago another friend and classmate from school - Jinish Thomas - who is stays in Australia told me that Jagdev’s wife and daughter are doing well. They are in touch with Jagdev's family in Punjab and even visited them. He told me that Jagdev's daughter is growing up well. She is doing well in studies and extracurricular activities. She is happy. 

Hearing that gave me immense relief.

Jinish shared a video of Jagdev's daughter where she is wishing Happy Diwali to everyone. I felt that she looks like Jagdev but Jinish said she looks more like Jagdev's younger sister. I do not recall the face of Jagdev's sister so I cannot comment. But the video made me very happy and relieved.

I do not know if I will ever meet her in person or connect with her digitally. But if I do, I will tell her this -

"Your father loved you and cared for you deeply. More deeply than words can explain."

Jagdev, I miss you, my friend. Life took us in different directions and somewhere along the way we allowed silly arguments and distance to come between us. But when I think of you today, I remember the awkward, funny, sensitive boy from school days and the father who loved his daughter deeply. I will always pray for your daughter’s happiness, strength and well-being.

--------------------

The above is my FB post in 2017, when I heard the news. Much of what I had written, remains true even today. I still regret the silliness of those arguments and the distance that followed. But after hearing recent updates from Jinish about his daughter doing well, growing up happy and staying connected with Jagdev’s family, I finally felt a sense of relief. Somehow, that mattered to me more than I can explain. 

The Voice of Dissent is Not Disrespect

In professional environments, the voice of dissent is often misunderstood. I firmly believe that sometime the most valuable person in the room is the one willing to say, "I disagree." Not because they enjoy conflict. Not because they want to undermine someone. But because they genuinely believe that an alternative point of view needs to be heard.

Over the years, I have had a few situations where I felt it was important to express an uncomfortable opinion honestly. But is honesty always accepted and appreciated? I want to share a couple of examples and also reflect on how people reacted to dissent in each case.

A few years back, I was speaking to an entrepreneur friend and his founding team. They had been working on a venture for the last few years. They had managed to get some angel investors on board, which put some fuel in the tank. The initial funding helped them get started.

But over time, the venture gulped up truck loads of money. The angel investment was gone and the founders themselves had spent more than double that amount from their own pockets.

I had been observing their journey closely. To their credit, they had indeed come a long way. But in MY opinion, they still had miles to go. More importantly, I was not convinced that continuing further made sense anymore.

My concern was partly financial. The venture was becoming financially draining for the founders. But there was another concern as well.

The service they were building was heavily dependent on technology. While the founding team understood the industry and the problem they were trying to solve, they had very limited understanding of the technical complexities involved. It was a tech-heavy business being driven largely by non-technical founders.

In my consulting career, I have seen several entrepreneurs make one common mistake - they fall too much in love with their idea.

There is nothing wrong with passion. In fact, passion is often necessary to survive the brutal journey of building something from scratch. But there is a fine line between believing in an idea and becoming emotionally inseparable from it.

Sometimes good ideas fail. Not because the founders lack intent or work ethic, but because timing, execution, capability, market realities, or a dozen other factors do not align. And at some stage, one must be able to assess objectively whether continuing to invest time, money, and energy still makes sense.

As Kevin O'Leary often says on Shark Tank, sometimes you need to "take it behind the barn and shoot it."

During the discussion, I did not hold back. I felt the founders needed to hear an uncomfortable perspective, so I expressed my thoughts without mincing words.

One person in the team, especially, was deeply attached to the venture. It was his idea. He had spent countless hours building it. Compared to others, he had probably spent 100x more time, emotion, and effort on it.

Imagine someone questioning something that has consumed years of your life. Imagine someone asking you to let go of a dream you built from scratch.

Yet, what stood out to me was the maturity with which the disagreement was handled. The discussion remained calm. He explained his point of view. I explained mine. There was disagreement, but there was also mutual respect. No bitterness. No hostility. No personal attacks.

Now lets look at the second incident, which happened some years after the first incident. I found myself in a very different disagreement.

At a company where I was working, there was an issue regarding the designation of a team member. When the individual had originally joined the organization, there were no formal bands attached to designations. She had joined as Senior Consultant, but due to an error in official records, her designation was incorrectly reflected as Consultant.

Later, when the company introduced structured designation bands, the incorrect designation evolved into Consultant Tier 1 in the system. After spending couple of  years in the system, she finally noticed her designation. Her designation was updated to Senior Consultant Tier 1. Up to this point, there was no disagreement. Correcting an error in records was a no-brainer.

However, one of the fellow leaders - let us call him Person ABC - wanted the designation to be elevated further to Senior Consultant Tier 2. And, he wanted this change to happen without it being treated as a promotion!

That was where I disagreed.

My disagreement was not about the individual employee. In fact, I had no issue (hmmm...lets say - almost no issue) with her performance or capability. My concern was about organizational consistency and the precedent it would create. Promotions had already been announced and a sudden change in someone's designation could have raised eyebrows and led to uncomfortable questions. The argument from Person ABC were not invalid but I did feel that selective points were being considered. Like a defense lawyer.

I also felt there was a practical issue being ignored. This individual wanted to be elevated and if the change in designation was not officially classified and communicated as a promotion, the employee herself could have questioned it. And she would still expect or demand a formal promotion in the next cycle. 

I expressed these concerns openly during the leadership discussion. It was a difference in opinion and nothing more. I was not obstructing the decision, nor was I unwilling to go with the majority view eventually. I simply believed that the implications needed to be discussed properly before a call was taken.

During the course of the discussion, it eventually emerged that Person ABC had already promised the higher designation to the employee. Personally, I felt that should never have happened. Since the promise had already been made, the rest of us agreed to proceed with the change.

In my honest opinion, this was a much smaller issue than the first incident.

In the first case, I was asking someone to reconsider years of effort, passion, sacrifice, and truck loads of money invested into a venture. In the second case, it was merely a disagreement over a designation band in an HR context. No one's dream was collapsing. No existential crisis was involved. The practical impact on the employee was limited.

Yet when I look back at both incidents side-by-side today, what fascinates me is not the disagreements themselves, but the reactions to them.

In the first incident, despite the emotional weight attached to the discussion, the dissent was received with maturity. The entrepreneur heard me out, calmly shared his perspective, and there were no ill-feelings afterwards. In the second incident, despite the issue being relatively minor, Person ABC reacted emotionally, said things rudely, and eventually stopped speaking to me!

And perhaps that is the real lesson about dissent.

Dissent itself is not rude. It is not disrespectful. It is not disloyalty. It is not negativity. It is simply the willingness to express a different point of view honestly and present strong arguments (and not disagree just for the heck of it). 

What truly defines individuals and leaders is not whether they face dissent. Everyone does. What defines them is how they respond to it. Some people can hear uncomfortable truths without taking them personally. Others perceive even minor disagreement as an attack on their judgment, authority, or ego. 

The irony is that the people willing to dissent are often the ones most invested in preventing mistakes.

Healthy organizations, strong leadership teams, and mature individuals do not eliminate dissent. They create space for it. 

Because progress rarely comes from rooms where everyone agrees. 

Juror # 2: A Courtroom Drama With No Easy Answers

What a coincidence that on the very day I wrote about some of my favorite courtroom dramas, I ended up watching another captivating addition to the genre - Juror # 2.

And it is really, really good.

The story felt refreshingly different from almost every courtroom drama movie I have watched or legal thriller I have read. Throughout the film, you constantly keep wondering what ending you actually want. Not what the law demands, not what morality demands, but what outcome you yourself are hoping for. Very few courtroom dramas manage to create that kind of internal conflict.

The movie stars Nicholas Hoult (from About a Boy and Superman) in the lead role and also features Toni Collette (from About a Boy, Little Miss Sunshine, The Sixth Sense) , J.K. Simmons (from Whiplash, Spiderman, La La Land), Gabriel Basso (from The Night Agent), and Kiefer Sutherland (from Designated Survivor, 24, A Time To Kill). The performances are restrained, mature, and perfectly suited to the tone of the film.

One of the best moments for me was realizing who the director was only when the end credits started rolling.

Directed and produced by Clint Eastwood.

That instantly explained the understated brilliance of the film. Eastwood has always had a unique ability to tell emotionally layered stories without unnecessary dramatization. Whether it is Mystic River, Million Dollar Baby, Gran Torino, Hereafter, The Bridges of Madison County, Unforgiven, Letters from Iwo Jima, Flags of Our Fathers, Sully, Invectus, American Sniper, The 15:17 To Paris, Richard Jewell, his films rarely scream for attention, yet they stay with you long after they end.

And, when it comes to Clint Eastwood, you naturally expect his movies to deliver “The Good” (Get that?😛)

Juror #2 certainly does. 

A Special Night for Pandey Ji...and His Fans

Really happy to see Manish Pandey finally get an opportunity to bat today - and he made it count in style.

He played a calm, crucial, and match-winning knock when his team needed him the most. The composure, experience, and timing he showed throughout the innings reminded everyone of his class and value under pressure.

Winning the Player of the Match award made the moment even more special and well deserved.

For fans - like yours truly - who have always backed him, this performance felt emotional. Cricket can sometimes move very fast, and players often get judged too quickly. But innings like this prove that class never disappears. Given the right opportunity, quality players can still shine brightly.

Today was more than just a good batting performance. It was a reminder of resilience. A reminder that staying prepared matters, even when chances are limited.

And honestly, it was simply wonderful to see Manish Pandey smiling at the end, holding the Player of the Match trophy after playing such a crucial knock for his side. 

While destiny has not been very kind to you, Pandey Ji, your patience, and perseverance (and fielding) have always stood out. God bless you.

Why My Cousin Vinny Remains One of My Favorite Courtroom Dramas

I have always been extremely fond of courtroom dramas. Perhaps it started because I got hooked onto John Grisham novels at a fairly early age. The entire world of investigations, legal strategy, courtroom arguments, witness examination, and the battle of intellect between lawyers has always fascinated me.

Over the years, I have read many courtroom dramas and watched quite a few films as well. Among Indian movies, I really liked the - top of the mind recall - Jolly LLB (the one with Arshad Warsi), Mulk, Pink, Court: State vs A Nobody, Sirf Ek Bandaa Kaafi Hai, and Kesari Chapter 2 - in no particular order. Among English movies, I have liked A Time to Kill, Philadelphia, 12 Angry Men, Just Mercy, The Client, and The Rainmaker, to name a few. I am sure I am missing some names. 

And while discussing courtroom dramas and legal comedies, I know I may risk losing the image (this image is only in my mind) of being an 'intelligent movie watcher,' but I must admit that I absolutely love Liar Liar as well. It is outrageous, exaggerated, completely over-the-top in parts - and yet endlessly entertaining. Jim Carrey at his absolute chaotic best is something I can never get tired of watching.

There are also a several highly acclaimed courtroom dramas like Jana Gana Mana and Jai Bhim that are still on my watchlist.

But one courtroom drama that I can watch endlessly is My Cousin Vinny.

I honestly do not even remember how many times I have watched this movie. At one point, I even owned a DVD copy of it, back when DVDs were still a thing. Unfortunately, I lost track of it over time, and today the movie is not available on any streaming platforms in India. It is not even available for purchase on YouTube Movies.

At its core, My Cousin Vinny is about two young men who unexpectedly find themselves trapped in a serious legal situation in a small American town, and the only person available to defend them is an inexperienced, unconventional lawyer - Vinny Gambini. What follows is a highly entertaining mix of courtroom drama, culture clash, comedy, and clever legal maneuvering. The film stars Joe Pesci as Vinny and Marisa Tomei as Mona Lisa Vito, in what remains one of the most memorable performances in courtroom cinema. The movie also features strong performances from Ralph Macchio, Mitchell Whitfield, and Fred Gwynne. Without relying on over-the-top drama, the film manages to remain sharp, funny, intelligent, and deeply engaging throughout.

What makes My Cousin Vinny so enjoyable is that it is not just a courtroom drama. At its heart, it is also a story about an underdog.

Vinny is not the polished, larger-than-life lawyer one usually expects in legal dramas. He is inexperienced, unconventional, rough around the edges, and constantly underestimated. Yet, despite all odds, he slowly pieces things together and outsmarts people who initially dismiss him completely.

One of my favorite sequences from the movie - and a scene I must have watched countless times on YouTube - is the courtroom exchange involving Mona Lisa Vito, played brilliantly by Marisa Tomei. The way she casually demonstrates her deep automotive knowledge and completely changes the direction of the case is both hilarious and immensely satisfying to watch.

The brilliance of the movie lies in its balance. It is funny without becoming silly, intelligent without becoming pretentious, and dramatic without losing its warmth. Even decades later, it still feels fresh.

For me, My Cousin Vinny is far more than just another legal film. It is one of the most entertaining examples of how a good story, memorable characters, sharp writing, and an unlikely hero can come together to create something timeless. 

I would genuinely love to own the movie digitally if it becomes available on any platform. And honestly, in today’s era - where old classics are getting theatrical re-releases because of the shortage of truly memorable storytelling - I hope My Cousin Vinny gets screened in theatres again, because I would absolutely love to experience it on the big screen.

Patriotism Beyond Slogans

Recently, the Prime Minister made an appeal that many people found unusual. He urged citizens to avoid unnecessary foreign travel, reduce discretionary consumption especially gold purchases, and wherever possible, adopt work-from-home flexibility.

Predictably, the statement created caution in the markets and among people. But on closer observation, many understood the larger concern behind the appeal: growing global economic uncertainty, geopolitical volatility, pressure on fuel imports, and the importance of preserving India’s financial stability and foreign exchange strength in the coming period.

Among all the suggestions, the one that directly affects the largest number of people is work from home.

It made me curious and I wanted to see how other companies are reacting to the appeal. I spoke to a friend who runs a mid-size business employing a few hundred people. He is also a strong BJP and PM Modi supporter. When I asked whether he planned to offer employees some flexibility to work from home, to my surprise, his answer was a clear no.

His reasoning was practical: every business has to evaluate what is feasible for its own operations. That is fair to an extent. Not every industry or role can function remotely. Manufacturing, physical operations, frontline services, and several other sectors obviously require physical presence. He argued that the nature of his business does not permit it and, moreover, he believes that overall productivity would dwindle.

I disagree and I have a question.  

Is resistance really about productivity, or is it more about reluctance to accept change?

Personally, I have seen remote collaboration work effectively for years, long before COVID made it mainstream. Early in my career at Deloitte, I once asked my manager whether I could work from home on a particular day. He simply asked me two questions: “Do you have work on your plate?” and “Will you complete it?” When I answered yes, he casually replied, “Then I do not care whether you work from office, home, or Timbuktu.”

That stayed with me.

I disagree that productivity declines in case of work-from-home arrangement. In fact, both studies and personal experience suggest that productivity can improve while working from home. In a typical office environment, people are frequently interrupted by conversations, meetings, informal discussions, and constant movement around them. Working remotely, on the other hand, often allows longer periods of uninterrupted focus and continuity of thought. Ultimately, the issue is less about location and more about work ethics. Someone who lacks discipline may remain unproductive regardless of whether they are sitting at home or in an office. But professionals with strong ownership and accountability generally deliver results irrespective of where they work from.

Professional maturity is not about monitoring physical presence. It is about ownership and accountability.

When I was working in Malaysia, I collaborated daily with team members spread across Singapore, Japan, Korea, Thailand, Indonesia, Vietnam, and Australia. Geography and physically being away from each other were never the obstacle. Clarity, discipline, and accountability mattered far more.

Even today, many large organizations have embraced hybrid flexibility. Interestingly, this includes companies like Infosys as well. Despite the public debate around the founder's appeal for 70-hours work week, Infosys allows employees a significant degree of work-from-home flexibility. Employees can work remotely for nearly half the working days in a month, and even on office days, the emphasis appears to be more on productivity and deliverables than merely spending long hours physically present in office.

That is why I believe the discussion today is less about whether remote work is possible and more about how intelligently organizations are willing to adapt wherever feasible.

And I also want to make a different point here.

Supporting a leader or a political party is easy when it costs us nothing. Real support is tested when adaptation demands some inconvenience, flexibility, or change from our side.

The Prime Minister knew very well that such appeals would attract criticism, political attacks, market nervousness, and uncomfortable public debate. Yet, he disregarded his interest and the interest of his party and still made the appeal because he believed they were necessary in the national interest.

If leadership is willing to take political risks for what it believes is good for the country, then as citizens, businesses, and professionals, the least we can do is honestly evaluate how much flexibility we ourselves can show. 

Not every company can implement work from home. Absolutely agree with that. Not every role allows it. Complete work-from-home and permanent changes are also not required. But many organizations can certainly reduce unnecessary travel, stagger attendance, enable partial remote work, or adopt temporary hybrid models wherever feasible.

Patriotism cannot remain only emotional or symbolic. It also reflects in whether we are willing to make reasonable adjustments when the country faces uncertain times.

There is a famous line often heard in India:

“भगत सिंह सबको चाहिए, लेकिन अपने घर में नहीं, पड़ोसी के घर में।" (Everyone wants a Bhagat Singh - the legendary revolutionary - but not in their own home, only in the neighbour’s)

Everyone admires sacrifice and national commitment - as long as someone else is making the adjustment.

Perhaps the real test of patriotism is much simpler:

When the country needs flexibility, responsibility, and collective discipline, are we willing to contribute even in small ways ourselves?

Leadership is More Than Knowledge and Expertise

Two leadership related statements stayed with me over the past year.

The first was:

“People respect someone and consider them a leader only when they see strong knowledge and expertise.”

The second was:

“There is a thin line between being friendly and being a friend.”

Both statements were made (in separate conversations) in the context of discussing the traits of a good leader. While leadership is far broader and more nuanced than these two perspectives alone, I found myself reflecting deeply on them.

Having observed leaders, teams, and workplace dynamics across a career spanning 23 years, I find myself agreeing with both statements to an extent. Expertise and knowledge certainly matter, and they do contribute to a leader’s credibility. However, I agree far more strongly with the second statement.

In fact, I recently came across a situation where both these statements could almost be analyzed side by side.

A close friend told me about a highly knowledgeable individual who took over a large team in his company. Multiple sub-teams were reporting into him and everyone was communicated the same. The person has robust domain knowledge and is highly experienced, and by the logic of the first statement, respect and leadership acceptance should have naturally followed. Yet, despite formal authority and clear communication structures, the individual continued struggling to gain genuine acceptance from the team.

Over time, it became increasingly visible that the challenge was not knowledge - it was leadership approach. In an attempt to be liked and accepted, the individual gradually became overly agreeable, tried to accommodate every concern, avoided taking firm positions, and focused heavily on staying in everyone’s good books. Last heard, he has also started to push back on few decisions of the management and has now adopted a 'Union Leader' approach, just to get the popularity votes. His leadership style has become less about balanced direction and more about seeking approval.

He also tends to take up the more important and visible tasks himself, possibly in an attempt to lead by example. While that may come from good intent, the way it is perceived by the team matters equally. When routine or less glamorous responsibilities are delegated, it sometimes creates an impression that such work is somehow beneath him. Over time, this can unintentionally weaken team ownership and create a sense of imbalance, because good leadership is not only about taking ownership of high-impact work, but also about demonstrating equal respect for every contribution within the team.

So, knowledge certainly matters. No two ways about it. Competence gives a leader credibility and creates confidence that the person understands the work. But expertise alone rarely guarantees respect or influence. Teams do not follow people only because they are knowledgeable. 

For example, in sports, some of the greatest players have not necessarily become the most successful captains or coaches. Technical brilliance may earn admiration, but leadership in a team environment requires the ability to inspire, manage personalities, maintain discipline, and make difficult decisions for the larger good of the team.

In fact, there have been examples where leaders proved their mettle despite having little or no technical expertise in the domain they were leading. Since I come from an automotive background, I naturally look at examples from that industry.

A fascinating real-world example is Alan Mulally. Before joining Ford Motor Company, he spent most of his career at Boeing and was not an automobile expert. Many within Ford understood the technical side of the business far better than he did. Yet Mulally became one of Ford’s most respected leaders - not because of technical superiority, but because of his ability to bring clarity, accountability, collaboration, and direction to the organization.

Coming to the second statement, I agree that problems begin when a leader crosses the line from being friendly to becoming a friend. In an attempt to be liked, some leaders start agreeing with everyone, validating every grievance, avoiding difficult conversations, and trying too hard to stay in everyone’s good books. While this may create temporary goodwill, it often weakens long-term respect.

Teams usually respect leaders who can maintain balance - leaders who are empathetic without losing objectivity, approachable without losing authority, and supportive without avoiding accountability.

Knowledge may create initial credibility. But leadership is ultimately sustained by maturity, balance, and the ability to maintain that fine line.