An Open Letter to the Prime Minister: Tourism Can Do More for India

Honourable Prime Minister,

I write this letter as a proud Indian, an optimist about India's future, but at the same time as someone who is concerned about the global economic environment and its impact on India.

In the last several years, under your leadership, India has witnessed  few countries in the world have demonstrated the kind of momentum that India has shown. We are among the fastest-growing major economies, our infrastructure is improving rapidly, and our voice in international affairs carries increasing weight.

The global economy, however, remains uncertain due to geopolitical conflicts, supply chain disruptions, changing trade dynamics, inflationary pressures, volatile energy markets, and fluctuating capital flows. Ongoing tensions such as the Russia-Ukraine conflict and instability in West Asia continue to impact commodity markets and energy supplies.

So far, India has managed these global challenges better than many countries. However, recent developments, and indeed some of your own public statements, indicate the need for caution. Concerns about foreign investor outflows, pressure on foreign exchange reserves, rising prices, weakening consumer confidence, and growing economic uncertainty highlight potential risks to economic stability.

In such an environment, it becomes increasingly important to maximize returns from every potential source of foreign exchange earnings. Sectors that can attract foreign currency, generate employment, strengthen India's global image, and stimulate economic activity deserve focused policy attention.

In this context, tourism merits particular emphasis.

Tourism is often discussed merely as a hospitality sector. In reality, tourism is simultaneously an economic sector, a foreign exchange sector, a soft power sector, a regional development sector, and an employment generation sector. It brings foreign currency into the country, supports a wide range of businesses and jobs, promotes regional development, and enhances India's international visibility and influence.

Although tourism's direct contribution to foreign exchange earnings may be modest compared to some major export sectors, its multiplier effects are significant. Every tourist supports airlines, hotels, restaurants, transport operators, guides, local artisans, small businesses, and countless service providers. Few sectors distribute economic benefits as widely.

For this reason, India should seek to maximize the returns from tourism and fully leverage its potential as a driver of economic growth, employment generation, foreign exchange earnings, and international goodwill.

The question is simple: Are we doing enough to maximize the returns from tourism?

I do not believe we are.

There does not appear to be a clear national roadmap to unlock the sector's full potential.

Broadly speaking, India attracts three categories of international visitors: business travellers, medical tourists, and general leisure tourists.

The flow of business travellers is closely linked to the overall health and growth of the economy. Increasing these numbers requires long-term efforts, sustained economic expansion, and greater integration with global business networks. Governments, industry bodies, and stakeholders can certainly organize conferences and international events, but their impact is likely to be gradual rather than transformative in the near future.

Medical tourism presents a more immediate opportunity.

India already attracts a large number of patients and their families because of its medical expertise, infrastructure, and cost competitiveness. Indian doctors are respected worldwide. Our hospitals perform highly complex procedures that attract patients from many countries. Most importantly, India offers a significant cost arbitrage compared to many developed nations, allowing patients to access high-quality treatment at a fraction of the cost they would incur elsewhere.

In countries such as the United States, medical treatment can be both prohibitively expensive and time-consuming. In several cases, a patient requiring a major procedure could travel to India, undergo treatment, stay in premium accommodation with accompanying family members, visit iconic attractions such as the Taj Mahal post recovery, and still spend less than they would in their home country!

Private hospitals and healthcare providers are already promoting medical tourism. However, I believe the opportunity can be approached more strategically.

Why should medical tourism begin at the hospital door? Why should it not begin at the Indian embassy?

Prospective patients could receive assistance with visas, travel planning, accommodation, treatment coordination, recovery support, and post-treatment tourism opportunities. Government-backed facilitation would increase confidence and make decision-making easier for patients and their families.

With the support and credibility of the Government of India, prospective patients across the world would find it easier to choose India for treatment. India should actively position itself as the world's preferred destination for high-quality and affordable healthcare. At a time when every source of foreign exchange earnings matters, this opportunity deserves far greater attention.

The greatest untapped opportunity, however, lies in general tourism.

India possesses almost every ingredient required for tourism success. Few countries can offer the diversity that India offers within a single national boundary. A traveller can experience the Himalayas, deserts, beaches, hill stations, rainforests, wildlife reserves, historical monuments, spiritual destinations, tribal cultures, rural life, and modern metropolitan cities, all within one country. Many nations build global tourism brands around one or two iconic attractions. India possesses hundreds.

Yet despite these advantages, I often feel that India extracts only a fraction of the economic value these assets are capable of generating. The reason is not a lack of attractions. The reason is that we often underinvest in the systems and experiences that surround those attractions.

The more I think about it, the more convinced I become that India's challenge is not an attraction problem. It is an experience problem.

Due to the attractions that India offers, there is already an organic and automatic inflow of tourists. Howeverm, I firmly believe that many state governments are merely reaping the benefits of these natural and historical advantages while taking them for granted. There appear to be limited efforts to maximize the opportunity through long-term planning and execution.

To illustrate this point, I will use the example of Goa.

Goa is one of India's most recognizable tourism destinations. It possesses beaches, culture, cuisine, nightlife, hospitality infrastructure, and global brand recognition. It attracts millions of visitors annually and remains one of India's most important tourism destinations.

Yet despite these advantages, recent conversations about Goa increasingly revolve around problems rather than opportunities.

As someone who has visited Goa multiple times over the years, I have observed a noticeable shift in perception. I once considered Goa an easy and convenient holiday destination. One could travel there with minimal planning and still have a wonderful experience. Goa felt effortless. You simply could not go wrong with Goa!

Today, however, many discussions revolve around transportation issues, pricing concerns, environmental challenges, and the overall tourist experience. I say this respectfully but directly. The persistence of these complaints point towards a governance problem and a failure of long-term planning.

Transportation

One of the most frequently discussed issues in Goa relates to transportation. Visitors regularly express frustration regarding mobility within the state. Taxi aggregator services such as Ola and Uber are not available in Goa. Local taxi operators (often called Taxi Mafia) frequently charge exorbitant fares for short journeys, and reports of tourists being harassed or intimidated are common.

There may be political considerations involved in protecting the interests of local taxi operators. However, the larger question is whether such policies are serving the long-term interests of Goa's tourism economy. Tourist footfall seems to have declined in recent years. 

Visitors driving into Goa from neighbouring states often feel harassed by frequent police checks. Vehicles are regularly stopped at seemingly random locations for 'document inspections'.

I experienced this personally during one of my visits. Google Maps directed me onto a road that had recently been converted into a one-way street. The road was outside the city, traffic was virtually non-existent, and there was no obvious indication that the traffic pattern had changed. Yet, several policemen were stationed at that exact location and immediately stopped my vehicle. When I requested that a formal challan be issued and asked for a receipt, I was informed that the offence could result in my immediate arrest. While I know it was a scare tactic, I finally bought my freedom for INR 300!

Renting a vehicle used to be easy but now it is also becoming slightly trickier and costly. A lot of the service providers do not have the required permits. Public transport infrastructure remains inadequate for a destination that depends so heavily on tourism. 

It is difficult to understand why transportation challenges that directly affect visitor experience have remained unresolved for so long. The government must take immediate corrective action to address these issues, including improving public transportation infrastructure, enhancing last-mile connectivity, and ensuring that visitors can travel within the state conveniently, safely, and at reasonable cost.

Water Quality

This issue is one of the primary reasons why I now hesitate to go to Goa. As per reports, Goa’s coastal and river waters face a severe environmental crisis driven by high levels of faecal coliform bacteria from untreated human waste. It is because beach shacks and hotels are dumping sewage directly into storm drains, rivers, and the sea. That is disgusting and shameful. I do not think enough people know about the issue as I do not think people would like to travel to a destination to swim in a gutter! Dumping of waste in the water bodies must be stopped immediately.

Infrastructure

If my understanding is correct, beach shacks in Goa receive three-year permits through a government lottery. Operators must renew their permits annually before each tourist season.

There may be valid reasons for this arrangement. However, from a business perspective, it creates a potential disincentive for long-term investment. If operators do not enjoy sufficient certainty regarding the future of their business, their primary focus is likely to remain on maximizing short-term returns rather than investing in better infrastructure.

Due to this issue, one finds that most beaches and beach shacks do not have proper washrooms, parking spaces and other infrastructure. For example, when you go to Morjim Beach - near the Sea Turtle nesting site - you would find shacks either with no washrooms or temporary ones. The ones that do have washrooms remain extremely dirty and the waste is dumped in the sea!

The state government should step in and create the necessary supporting infrastructure. Basic amenities such as changing rooms, showers, clean washrooms, safe and organized parking facilities, efficient waste management systems, and even secure locker rooms should be considered essential rather than optional at major tourist destinations.

If the state government does not wish to become directly involved in creating and maintaining such infrastructure, it should reconsider the existing permit framework for shack operators. Operators must be provided sufficient certainty and incentive to make long-term investments, while at the same time being held accountable for maintaining adequate infrastructure, sanitation standards, and visitor facilities. 

Another issue relates to the temporary nature of beach shacks. Since these structures are legally classified as temporary, operators are required to completely dismantle them before the onset of the monsoon season.

While there are valid environmental and safety considerations behind this requirement, it is worth exploring whether a more efficient long-term approach is possible. Although beach activity naturally declines during the monsoon months, tourism does not come to a complete halt. The government could consider developing elevated permanent platforms or other suitable supporting infrastructure on which seasonal shacks and restaurants could be installed and operated.

Such an approach could reduce the recurring costs associated with annual construction and dismantling, encourage better-quality infrastructure, improve sanitation standards, and create a more sustainable operating environment for businesses.

Safety and Tourist Support

In India, and particularly in many tourism destinations, we often focus on attracting tourists without paying equal attention to what happens after they arrive. This is where every state governments, including Goa's, must accept greater responsibility.

India's greatest strength has always been its people. The overwhelming majority of Indians are welcoming, generous, and eager to help visitors. Countless tourists leave India with stories of extraordinary kindness shown by complete strangers.

Unfortunately, a nation's reputation is not shaped solely by positive experiences. A single horrific incident can undo years of goodwill.

The brutal sexual assault of a foreign tourist in Jharkhand, which attracted international attention, serves as a painful example. Similarly, countless videos circulating online show tourists being scammed, overcharged, misled, or harassed. Even isolated incidents can have disproportionate consequences in today's digital world.

The reality is that every tourist now possesses a global platform. A positive experience can encourage thousands of people to visit India. A negative experience can discourage them.

This is why the philosophy of Atithi Devo Bhava must evolve from a slogan into a system.

Every tourist should know exactly where to seek assistance when faced with a problem. Every major tourist destination should have visible tourist assistance centres and a dedicated multilingual helpline.

While I have not personally used the service, I understand that Indian Railways has made significant progress in addressing passenger grievances through responsive helplines and complaint mechanisms that often trigger prompt corrective action. A similar model should be replicated across major tourism destinations.  

To sum it up, with transportation, safety, hygiene, and environmental challenges still affecting many destinations, it is important to ask what impression we are creating for international visitors. Every inconvenience creates friction. Every friction point reduces satisfaction. Every dissatisfied tourist becomes a source of negative publicity. In an era where every traveller is effectively a content creator, a single negative experience can influence thousands of future travel decisions.

Goa and every tourist destination in India has significant potential which can easily be tapped with some concentrated efforts. There are issues but the solutions are well within reach. I genuinely feel that - by just using common sense and equipped with the right intentions - even I can come up with a project plan regarding how to make meaningful and measurable changes to Goa and other tourist destinations in India. So, I simply fail to understand that why the bureaucrats - who are among the smartest minds - and political leaders - who have the power to make meaningful changes - are failing to rectify the issues. 

In an era of global uncertainty, geopolitical instability, and intense economic competition, India cannot afford to leave a major source of foreign exchange earnings, employment, and international goodwill underdeveloped. Tourism is a key sector with enormous possibilities and opportunities. It deserves the same policy attention as manufacturing, technology, exports, and infrastructure. The solutions are largely known. What is required is vision, coordination, and execution.

India does not need more reasons for tourists to visit. India needs to deliver the right experience for tourists to visit again.

Respectfully,

A concerned and well-meaning citizen.

Confessions of a Certified Sweet Tooth

 

I have a confession to make: I have a serious sweet tooth.

I like most sweets, but there are a few that completely destroy my willpower. If I know they are somewhere in the house, I will almost certainly go looking for them. They will not let me sleep.

The biggest culprits are Cadbury Nutties, Cadbury Dairy Milk Crackle, Kopiko Coffee Candy, Tutti Fruity Ice Cream, and Jalebi. If any of these are sitting in the refrigerator or pantry, they occupy far more space in my mind than they should.

The real problem is that I can never stop at just one bite. One becomes two, two becomes several, and before I know it, half the stash has disappeared.

And if I am having a particularly strong craving, you cannot trust me around a box of Bournvita either. I have been known to sneak a spoonful straight from the box. Sometimes more than one.

I am fully aware of the problem. Unfortunately, awareness has done very little to solve it.

800 Kilometres for a Dosa

One of the most eventful road trips of my life happened in 2005.

Me and some of my MBA batchmates were working together in a company in Bangalore and, along with another office colleague, we planned a weekend trip to Udupi, roughly 400 kilometres away. The group comprised five of us: Subhasish Sahoo, Biraja Sahu, Prachi Rastogi (all three are my batchmates and ex-colleagues) and Sunil Ghorpade. Subhasish, Biraja and Prachi were good friends. Sunil, at that point, was merely a colleague from another team. Today he is a good friend. Perhaps because we survived this trip together. Or perhaps because we shared a common tormenter.

I do not remember how this particular combination of people came together or who first suggested the trip. I was invited, and I joined. 

We were to travel in Sunil's black Tata Indica. Since he was the only one with a car, I suspect that was the primary qualification required for his inclusion in the group. (Sunil - if you read this, you must know that even if that is true, it was not my idea. It is not my style!)

The plan was to leave office on Friday, 7th October 2005, drive overnight and reach Udupi the next morning. However, like most road trips, the start was delayed. We were all supposed to meet at the flat shared by Subhasish and Biraja. If memory serves me right, it was Sunil who arrived late. Eventually, we started well past midnight, technically on 8th October. In hindsight, that delay may have been a blessing because we managed to avoid Bangalore's legendary traffic jams and cruise through the city.

Despite the hour, spirits were high. We were chatting, sharing funny incidents, someone was talking about food, someone was pissing Sunil and me off. So....essentially a typical road trip with friends!

Sunil was driving and I was sitting in front passenger seat. Subhasish, Prachi and Biraja were in the backseat.

Around 4:30 in the morning, we stopped briefly. It was to empty our bladders and refill it with beer. In reality, we were lost! 

We had arrived at a junction where two roads diverged and none of us knew which one to take. I think both roads eventually led to Udupi but, much like life choices, one was probably sensible and the other regrettable. We simply did not know which was which. 

After seeking advice, debating the matter at length and applying the collective wisdom of five sleep-deprived adults, we confidently chose....the wrong one.

The road we selected had streetlights while the other appeared dark. That must have been a major factor in our decision-making process. Unfortunately, about ten kilometres later, the streetlights disappeared, the road narrowed, the darkness deepened and the surroundings began to resemble the opening scenes of a low-budget 'Ramsay Brothers' horror film.

It was a perfect setting for someone (Hello...I am Someone!) to start talking about some spooky stories. 

As the song Hotel California began playing, I shared an urban legend I had once heard. According to the story, the song possessed satanic powers. There had supposedly been an incident in which hostel students in different buildings committed suicide after listening to it. The story claimed they jumped around the same time and that the song was subsequently banned by some radio stations. While the rest listened with growing curiosity, Prachi repeatedly protested and insisted that we stop discussing spooky stories in the middle of a dark, deserted road in the middle of nowhere.

The moment I finished narrating it, the car hit something and came to a violent stop.

The headlights went out.

Suddenly, five of us were sitting inside a dead car in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by complete darkness. For context, it was so dark that I could not see my own hands. Prachi suggested that I step out and look what happened. I ignored it like Sunil and I ignored most things that Prachi said on that trip.

Unfortunately, remaining inside the vehicle indefinitely was not a viable solution. We eventually stepped out and attempted to understand what had happened. We examined the car, exchanged theories and displayed varying degrees of confidence while possessing absolutely no knowledge.

After some time, a truck stopped. The driver took one look at the vehicle and announced that a rod connecting the front wheels had bent and needed repair or replacement. To this day, I do not understand how that would explain the headlights going out. I continue to blame Hotel California.

Somehow, we managed to get the vehicle moving and crawled to the next village, which was about an hour away. We asked around for a auto workshop, located a mechanic, woke him up, got the car repaired and then drove to another town to have the wheel alignment fixed. Despite our delayed departure, we had originally expected to reach Udupi by 7AM. We finally arrived sometime after 4PM.

We were tired and sleepy. The sight of the hotel was comforting. When we reached the hotel parking, I was desperately looking for a bed and pillow. And that is precisely when Sunil and I managed to lock the car with the key still in the ignition. Nobody was inside. All the doors were locked. All the windows were shut!

We stood there staring at it, hoping it was a bad dream. It wasn't. Though it was indeed a nightmare unfolding in broad daylight.

The hotel guard suggested a workshop about a hundred metres away. We went there with no hope whatsoever. The place looked as though it only repaired vehicles from the World War II era.

We explained the problem. "Easy job," they said. I remember being sarcastic about their (over) confidence.

Two men from the workshop accompanied us back to the hotel parking lot. One walked beside us. The other, who looked about our age, walked ahead carrying a flat metal strip roughly a foot and a half long. He had the swagger of Viv Richards walking out to bat. The confidence was impossible to miss. I was convinced reality was about to humble him.

Halfway there, he turned around and asked, "The vehicle does not have central locking, right?"

"It does," Sunil and I replied together.

He did not give much of a reaction and continued to walk ahead of us...but now a little slower. The spring in his stride had reduced. I thought... There....now his bubble has burst. I mentally congratulated myself on being right. 

He reached the vehicle before us and, by the time we caught up, the car was already open!!! 

Just like that!! No drama. No struggle. No suspense.

He and his companion then walked back to their workshop, refusing any payment. He was not doing it for money. He was simply a superhero helping two helpless men.  

The car was open, but Sunil's worries remained. "If it is this easy to open the lock, how safe is it to leave the car parked here?" he asked. At the time, I thought it was a ridiculous concern. I pointed out that, by that logic, he could never leave his car unattended anywhere. Years later, after buying my own vehicle, I understood exactly what he meant.

We finally rested...briefly. Very briefly.

Subhasish had no intention of wasting valuable sightseeing time on something as trivial as rest or sleep. He produced his Bible, Outlook Traveller Weekend Breaks from Bangalore, and announced that we needed to visit a temple and then proceed to Mitra Samaj restaurant to eat the famous 'Outlook Masala Dosa'. The dosa - a family size one - had been featured in Subhasish's Bible and the restaurant had renamed it to Outlook Masala Dosa. 

Subhasish was not asking or seeking opinions. Sunil and I looked at each other and then at Subhasish with hope that he would have some pity. He showed none.

I finally objected. There was no way I was visiting a beach town and beginning my sightseeing with a temple and a restaurant. We would go to the beach first. Thankfully, better sense prevailed and we reached the beach before sunset. We could not spend much time there because darkness was approaching, but we agreed to return early the next morning to watch the sunrise over the sea.

I cannot blame anyone else for that idea. It was entirely mine. I wanted a nice photograph of the sun rising over the horizon. Emerging out of the sea! 🌅

After the beach, we visited the temple, which was beautiful and pleasantly uncrowded. Then we finally had the legendary Outlook Masala Dosa along with lassi. On the way back to the hotel, I bought some alcohol because I suffer from a peculiar problem. When I am extremely tired, I struggle to sleep.

The alcohol did not help. Neither did the new and unfamiliar surroundings. Nor Sunil's frequent peeking from the window to check if the car was still there. As a result, I got the least sleep among all five of us. Yet, I was the one who woke everyone up before dawn. Anything for that photograph!

Nobody was pleased. But everyone came anyway.

We reached the beach while it was still dark. In fact, it was so early that the guards appeared suspicious of our intentions. Perhaps they thought we had come to have booze. Perhaps they thought we had come to commit suicide. Perhaps they thought we had come to kill Prachi. The third option was most probable.

We walked a little, found a spot on the sand and sat down to wait for the sunrise. Some of us chatted. Some yawned. Some briefly dozed off. All of us stared out towards the sea, patiently waiting for the sun to emerge....from the sea!!

We were so tired and sleep deprived that our brains were not functioning properly. After waiting for an eternity, someone noticed a shadow. A shadow??!!?? 🤔

Subhasish was standing behind us. His shadow was falling across where we sat.

And that was when it 'dawned' upon us!

Udupi is on the west coast of India. While we had been staring at the Arabian Sea waiting for the sun to rise from it, the sun had quietly risen behind us!!!  

The entire exercise had been pointless! We had sacrificed precious sleep, dragged ourselves out of bed before dawn, marched to the beach and waited patiently for a sunrise that was happening in the opposite direction.

There was a brief silence. Then came the blame game. Then came the embarrassment. And finally came the laughter. A lot of laughter.

Later, we had breakfast, and by the time we returned to the hotel, it was time to check out. After getting ready, we left for a boat ride to a nearby island before beginning the long drive back to Bangalore.

Looking back, the trip makes very little sense.

We drove more than 800 kilometres, slept for only a few hours, got lost, broke down in the middle of nowhere, frightened ourselves with ghost stories, locked ourselves out of the car, and returned home exhausted.

For what?

A temple visit. A lassi. An oversized dosa. And a sunrise that happened behind us!

But then, the best road trips are rarely about the destination. They are about getting lost on the way and having enough namooney (characters) in the car to make it memorable. After all, nobody remembers a trip because everything went according to plan.

Click for Video of Our Trip

We Won....Again!!

 

We Celebrate Athletes. We Watch Cricket.

Every time there is a major cricket tournament and an Indian athlete from another sport achieves something remarkable, a familiar debate begins. People start saying that all the money in Indian sport goes to cricket. The criticism becomes even louder when the Indian cricket team underperforms while an athlete from another discipline shines on the international stage.

I find this argument unfair and often disconnected from economic reality.

First, let us understand a basic fact. Cricket in India is not rich because of government backing or funding. The Board of Control for Cricket in India (BCCI) is a private body. It is registered as a society and does not receive regular government funding in the way many people assume. The money in cricket comes primarily from the market, not from the state.

Why does the market reward cricket?

Because people watch it.

India watches cricket on a scale that no other sport can match. International matches, the IPL, domestic tournaments, highlights, analysis shows, YouTube clips, fantasy leagues and endless debates dominate public attention. 

In many parts of India, if two local teams are playing a match on an open ground, people will stop and watch for a few minutes. Very few sports command that kind of organic interest.

The Indian Premier League is not merely India's biggest sporting event; it is one of the most valuable sports properties in the world. The IPL ranks second only to the NFL in per-match media rights value and is among the most-watched sports leagues globally.

Because cricket attracts viewers, it attracts advertisers. Because it attracts advertisers, broadcasters are willing to pay enormous sums for media rights. Because broadcasters pay enormous sums, franchises become valuable. Because franchises become valuable, players earn more.

Brands do not pay Virat Kohli huge endorsement fees out of charity. They do it because he delivers visibility and consumer attention. IPL team owners do not invest hundreds of crores because they simply love the sport. They invest because there is a business case. The money follows the audience.

Now lets look at the example of Punjab sprinter Gurindervir Singh, who recently created history by clocking 10.09 seconds in the men's 100 metres at the National Federation Cup in Ranchi, becoming the first Indian ever to break the 10.10-second barrier and setting a new national record. It was a phenomenal achievement and a landmark moment for Indian athletics. The entire country should celebrate performances like these. We should be proud that Indian athletics is pushing new boundaries and producing athletes capable of rewriting long-standing records.

However...if I am not mistaken, the qualification standard for the men's 100 metres at the Paris Olympics was 10.00 seconds, while the world's elite sprinters regularly run in the 9.8 to 9.9-second range. In other words, while Gurindervir has become India's fastest man, he still has a mile to go in order to compete and perform at an even higher level. He needs support to continue to get better. 

Will millions of Indians now start following athletics because of his achievement and to support him? A few people might. Most will not.

For a few days, social media timelines will be full of appreciation. News channels will run segments. People will express pride. Then many of us will return to watching cricket. That is not criticism. It is the fact. It is simply (and unfortunately) how sports consumption works in India.

The same applies to many of India's sporting icons. We admire Neeraj Chopra. We admire Sunil Chhetri, Baichung Bhutia, Mary Kom, P. V. Sindhu and Saina Nehwal. We proudly celebrate their achievements whenever they bring glory to the country.

But admiration does not translate into viewership.

How many of us regularly watch Diamond League events because Neeraj Chopra competes? How many watch football leagues every week because we admire Sunil Chhetri and other Indian footballers? How many follow badminton tournaments throughout the season because we support P. V. Sindhu? The numbers are nowhere close to cricket.

This is precisely why cricket generates more money. 

Even within cricket itself, the economics tell the same story. Many people ask why Smriti Mandhana does not earn as much as Virat Kohli or Rohit Sharma. The answer is not difficult to understand. Kohli and Sharma attract significantly larger television audiences, digital engagement and stadium attendance. Greater attention generates greater revenue.

To BCCI's credit, Indian men's and women's cricketers now receive equal match fees for international appearances. That is a progressive step but to be honest, it look likes an attempt to get some brownie points and popularity votes. Central contract payments are still different, and endorsement earnings remain vastly different, reflecting the commercial realities of the game and the revenue generated by each product.

Whether we like it or not, sport is also an entertainment business.

None of this means the government has no responsibility. It absolutely does. The government must provide infrastructure, coaching, training facilities, sports science support and roadmaps for talented athletes. India still has a long way to go in many of these areas. Better support systems can help athletes compete at the highest level and inspire greater participation. But there is a limit to what governments can achieve through funding alone. They must find a way to bring in corporates into the dynamics. 

At this stage, corporates and brands may occasionally step forward to sponsor individual athletes, especially those who have achieved success on the international stage. In many cases, however, such support is driven more by corporate goodwill and social responsibility than by commercial considerations.

The economics become very different when it comes to investing in an entire sport. Brands are willing to spend large sums only when there is a sizeable audience and Return-on-Investment (ROI). Without sustained viewership, the commercial ecosystem simply cannot sustain itself.

That is why the real challenge for most sports in India is not merely producing champions. It is creating an audience. Because once the audience arrives, the sponsors, broadcasters and investors will certainly follow.

The fact is that cricket's wealth is, in large part, a reflection of our own choices. We created this market. We consume cricket more than any other sport. We discuss it more, watch it more and spend more time on it. So before blaming the government, the BCCI or corporate sponsors for cricket's financial dominance, perhaps we should ask a simpler question: do we watch other sports as much as we watch cricket?

If the answer is no, then we are part of the reason cricket has so much money and other sports do not.

Leaving It to The King

IPL Final day. RCB vs GT. Two good teams.

GT have the home advantage. They know the conditions, they'll have the crowd behind them, and their bowling attack is probably stronger. RCB, on the other hand, have the batting firepower. RCB fans would also flock the stadium. All signs point to a proper cracker of a game.

As an RCB fan, I'm excited, hopeful, nervous and anxious all at once. Yet somehow, I can't shake off the feeling that things may not go our way today.

So I've left it to one factor: King Kohli.

If he plays a great knock and takes RCB to victory, I will be happiest. If he doesn't deliver and RCB still wins, I would of course, still be happy. But if he fails and RCB fall short, I won't be too bummed. I'll just accept that maybe it wasn't meant to be.

For now, all I can do is sit back and hope the King brings his A-game tonight. Aaar Ceee Beee!❤️🖤

Our Love Language

Some couples send flowers. Me and my wife send Bubu-Dudu reels to each other. That's our love language!! And now I create some for her. 

The Real 'Darr' Was Outside the Theatre

Was listening to a song recently and got reminded of an incident from 1993.

Growing up, summer vacations more often than not meant one thing. A trip to Patna.

A large part of my extended family lived there. Several of my Buas and Phuphas, along with countless cousins. As a kid, I used to be incredibly excited about those trips. In fact, I used to be jealous that my cousins got to spend so much time together while I met them only during vacations. Summers in Patna meant large family gatherings, games, cricket, good food, ice creams, endless stories and complete freedom. Honestly, what else does a child need?

One thing that happened very often during those vacations was family movie outings. Not small groups. The entire clan. Sometimes twelve to fifteen people together or even more.

During that trip, the plan was to watch Darr, starring Sunny Deol, Shah Rukh Khan and Juhi Chawla. Even before its release, the movie had become hugely popular and was generating tremendous interest. Tickets were obviously difficult to get. So, like every large Indian family, responsibility was delegated to the younger boys.

One of my cousins was given the task of arranging tickets. I went along with him. Two of his friends joined us as well since they also wanted to watch the film with us. The four of us landed at the theatre early in the morning - probably around eight or eight thirty - because we wanted to beat the crowd and get tickets for a truckload of people.

We were expecting chaos. We had mentally prepared ourselves for pushing crowds, long queues, disappointment, maybe even failure. But to our surprise, the exact opposite happened. The ticket counter had just opened and within minutes we had all the tickets we needed. Just like that.

Mission accomplished! We found a phone booth and informed others that we have managed to get the tickets!

But then came a new problem. If my memory is not failing me, we were still around 90 minutes away from the start of the movie.

This was the early 1990s. There were practically no options to spend time that early in the morning. Most shops were still shut. Only a few eateries selling chai, samosa, jalebi and similar snacks were open. Going all the way back home and returning again for the movie felt unnecessarily exhausting. So we stood outside the theatre trying to figure out what to do.

That is when I noticed something strange.

My cousin and his two friends had started discussing something quietly among themselves. Every few seconds, they would look at me awkwardly and continue whispering. It was obvious that his friends were nudging him to ask me something, but he was unsure how I would react.

For context, I was almost fourteen years old and this cousin was around two years older than me. So he and his friends must have been around sixteen. We lived in different cities but studied in the same class, so our relationship was more like friends. Still, there was visible hesitation in the air.

Finally, I asked what was going on.

After some visible reluctance, he told me.

Before the morning show of Darr, the theatre was running an adult film in the early morning slot. And the three of them were discussing whether we should use the waiting time to go watch it. He asked me if I was okay with the idea.

A hundred thoughts ran through my head instantly.

Until that moment, I had never watched an adult movie in my life. I was not even 14. So naturally, I was nervous and deeply uncomfortable. But at the same time, like boys and men often do, I desperately did not want to appear inexperienced or scared in front of the others. Internally, I was absolutely shitting bricks. Externally, I tried my best to look calm and unfazed.

I agreed.

But not before raising what I thought was a very important concern.

Darr was supposed to start in around 75 minutes and knowing our family members, most of them would probably arrive only 60-80 minutes later. But what if, for once, they actually arrived early? They would notice that we were missing. Worse, they might see us walking out of the theatre.

That, ironically, was the real Darr. 

(For my non-Hindi speaking readers - and I would like to believe that people actually read this blog - Darr means Fear)

I raised this point partly because I genuinely feared getting caught and partly because I hoped it would make them abandon the plan altogether. To my relief, the point landed. They looked at each other and agreed that it was a valid concern. 

Unfortunately for me, they were not as Darr-pok as I was. (Darr-pok means coward)

The adult movie (I do not recall the name) had already started, so they quickly came up with what they believed was a foolproof plan. We would immediately buy tickets, go inside, watch the movie for no more than 45 minutes and come out well before our family members arrived.

I had to admit, it sounded logical. And with that, the plan was put into action.

We bought the tickets and entered the theatre. There were only a handful of people inside. We quietly went and sat in a corner. The movie had already been running for some time.

Technically, I was watching the movie. Mentally, however, I was sitting on a ticking time bomb.

Not because the movie itself was particularly scandalous. In fact, from what I remember, it was mostly terrible and had very few actual adult scenes. Whatever 'adult content' it had was mostly limited to occasional nudity rather than anything explicit. My cousin and his friends were giggling occasionally, not on the scenes but at the expressions of people sitting in that dark theatre - early in the morning!

Meanwhile, I was doing only one thing. Checking my watch every few minutes.

After around 25 minutes, I elbowed my cousin and whispered, “Should we leave?” 

He looked at his watch casually and replied, “There’s still a lot of time.”

Five minutes later, I asked again. Same response. This happened a few more times.

Finally, after spending about 40-45 minutes inside the theatre, my cousin agreed to leave. Maybe he got irritated with my constant questioning. Maybe even he had started getting nervous.

The moment he agreed, I practically sprang out of my seat. I led the group toward the exit like a man escaping a crime scene. My only objective was to get out quickly, reach a safe spot outside and ensure we did not get caught by any family member.

The exit opened into a narrow roofless alley beside the theatre which connected to the parking area in front.

I walked out first, almost charging through the alley. And then, in what felt like a perfectly scripted twist written by a sadistic Bollywood writer, I froze...

Around 15 steps away stood a man holding a large video camera on his shoulder. And he was recording people coming out of the theatre!!

For a second, my soul left my body.

Thankfully, this was one situation where none of us needed discussion, consensus or strategic planning. Without saying a word, all four of us instantly covered our faces and sprinted past the camera like fugitives escaping a police raid.

We did not stop running until we were at least a hundred metres away from the theatre.

Once we finally caught our breath, we looked at each other. Every single face was pale. The confident 'men' who had decided to watch the movie had vanished. Only four scared boys remained.

After waiting for some time, we cautiously walked back toward the theatre, but only after a large crowd had gathered outside. We quietly stood in one corner and noticed that the cameraman was still there and he was accompanied by a couple of others.

After asking around, we discovered who they were.

It was the crew of Ankhon Dekhi, one of the most respected investigative journalism programs on Doordarshan during the 1990s and early 2000s. Hosted by journalist Nalini Singh, the show was known for fearless reporting and social issue investigations across India.

And that day, they were shooting an episode about children falling into bad habits.

The real problem was this: my immediate and extended family never missed an episode of Ankhon Dekhi.

Eventually, the family members arrived and after some time we stopped thinking about the incident. Frankly, what else could we do? All of us watched and thoroughly enjoyed Darr.

That particular episode of Ankhon Dekhi was not aired immediately. It probably took a couple of weeks and by then we had already returned from Patna. Back then, we did not have cable TV (or dish TV) at home. Unlike today’s world of endless television channels and streaming platforms, back then Doordarshan was pretty much our only source of TV entertainment. Yet for the next several weeks, I kept inventing excuses to prevent my family from watching Ankhon Dekhi.

The day the episode finally aired, I do not think I watched it myself.

I found out later that the episode thankfully did not contain the blockbuster scene that could easily have converted my life into a full-fledged horror movie.

At the beginning, I mentioned that listening to a song reminded me of this incident. The song is Jaadu Teri Nazar from Darr. I love the song but even today, whenever I hear it playing somewhere, I instantly get transported back to that morning in Patna. 

Looking back now, it is funny how terrified we were. Four boys acting like fugitives after watching forty minutes of a terrible adult movie. But at fourteen, reputation, fear and imagination combine in strange ways. And for a few weeks in 1993, I genuinely believed my life could be destroyed by Ankhon Dekhi.

A Proud Bihari at Cellular Jail

Someone recently shared a photograph listing the political prisoners from Bihar who had been incarcerated in the historic Cellular Jail. The implied suggestion seemed to be that the relatively small list reflected Bihar’s limited contribution to India’s freedom movement.

The picture immediately took me back nearly twenty years. I had seen that very list before.

Back in 2006, right after my marriage, my wife and I travelled to the Andaman and Nicobar Islands for our honeymoon. I had dreams of a far more glamorous honeymoon destination, but budget had other plans. So, we settled for Andaman and Nicobar Islands and the plan was to visit Port Blair and the Havelock Islands. Havelock Island, home to the famous Radhanagar Beach, was rated among Asia’s best beaches by Time magazine in the early 2000s. Another reason I was fascinated by Havelock Island was a rather unusual one. Not many are aware that the waters around the islands are known to have saltwater crocodiles...and I love the first half of the movie Khoon Bhari Maang! Sadly, never got an opportunity! 

While in Port Blair, we visited beaches (not too many), nearby islands (for example the Viper Island),  enjoyed bike rides, admired sunsets, and took far too many photographs. But unlike most honeymoon itineraries, one place I was determined to visit was the historic Cellular Jail in Port Blair.

We first went to watch the Sound & Light Show in the Cellular Jail. It was enjoyable, though twenty years later I must admit I remember the Cellular Jail itself far more vividly than the show. We decided that we will visit the Cellular Jail again the next day in the morning and take a guided tour. 

Cellular Jail leaves a deep impression on you. Tiny prison cells, stories of unimaginable torture, hunger strikes, force-feeding, and the haunting realization that many of India’s bravest souls spent years there under brutal conditions.

During the tour, we climbed up the highest point of the jail. It was a dome-like watchtower overlooking different wings of the jail. It had large boards that displayed the names of prisoners, categorized state-wise. We began scanning for familiar names. Unfortunately, most of us know embarrassingly little about the people who actually fought for our freedom and thus we could find only few familiar names on those boards.

One thing stood out immediately though. The boards for Bengal and Punjab (especially Bengal) were overflowing with names.  

Unsurprisingly, the Bengali tourists around us looked visibly proud while reading through the long list of names from their state. They were also passing comments on fewer names on other boards.    

And then we reached the board for Bihar, my home state. My wife pointed that the board had surprisingly few names. Someone nearby laughingly remarked, “Looks like Bihar did not participate much in the freedom struggle.”

Now, as a proud Bihari, I felt duty-bound to respond.

So I replied loudly so that people nearby can listen, “To get your name on this board, you not only had to fight the British, you also had to get caught. The low number simply proves Biharis were smart enough not to get caught.”

There was silence. I think only my wife appreciated the response and smiled.

Of course, the remark was made entirely in good humor. I have the highest respect and regard for every freedom fighter who fought for India's independence, irrespective of their state, ethnicity, caste, creed, or language. Their sacrifices cannot and should not be measured region-wise. 

Still, I must admit, as a Bihari, the opportunity to respond with a sharp line in defense of Bihar was simply too good to waste. 

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...”