The Weight of a Broken Promise

I should not have written what I wrote.

Not because it was dishonest. Not because I said something I did not mean. But because the very act of writing it crossed a line I had promised I would not cross.

Someone shared something with me out of genuine care. It was not gossip, not manipulation, not an attempt to provoke me. It was something I was told only because that person felt I deserved to know. And before telling me, there was one clear request: do not react, do not discuss it, do not tell anyone.

I agreed.

What I was told deeply unsettled me - not because of the outcome of the incident itself, and not because things may not have gone in my favor. I did not ask for that and did not need that favor - though I genuinely respect someone acknowledging my contribution and fighting for me. However, I am content with what I have, and I do not live expecting more. Also, I do not think anything more is good for the larger cause. 

What disturbed me was something far more difficult to process: the nature of the conversation, the arguments made, and the positions taken by people I trusted. Learning that such a discussion had happened, and hearing how I was perceived within it, affected me more than I was prepared for.

It shook me.

That night, the weight of it stayed with me until the early hours. Sleep did not come easily. My mind kept returning not to what happened, but to what it revealed. In that emotional state - hurt, restless, and not thinking clearly - I did what I have often done when I do not know where else to place my thoughts: I wrote.

My blog has always been a strange, deeply personal space for me. It is not a weapon, not a signal, not a coded message meant for others to decipher. I do not write personal things there to provoke reactions or to make people respond. I write because, sometimes, it feels like the only place where I can speak without interruption. In many ways, it has been less of a platform and more of a friend - one that absorbs what I cannot always carry alone.

Writing eases pain for me. It organizes distress. It gives shape to emotions that would otherwise remain chaos.

But this time, even if my intentions were private, the act itself was still a reaction.

And that is where I failed.

I told myself I was being discreet. I convinced myself no one would understand what I was referring to. But discretion does not erase the fact that I responded when I had given my word that I would not. I broke a promise - not publicly perhaps, not explicitly perhaps - but meaningfully enough for me to know that I did.

That is what I regret.

I regret not honoring the position of someone who trusted me enough to share something difficult, carefully, and with concern. I regret allowing my distress to override my discipline. And most of all, I regret failing to uphold the one thing I had clearly said I would: remain silent.

This is not about denying my hurt, nor about pretending I was unaffected. I was affected, deeply. But emotional pain does not excuse breaking trust.

So this is simply an acknowledgment: I should have handled it better. I should have respected both the care with which that information was shared and the boundary that came with it.

I am deeply sorry.

If Sudama Had a Voice

We celebrate the friendship of Krishna and Sudama as one of the purest forms of friendship - humility meeting grace, devotion meeting divinity. Sudama had little, Krishna had everything, and yet their bond is remembered because neither wealth nor power defined it. Sudama came with love, not demands. Krishna gave with understanding, not pity.

But I often wonder what their relationship would have looked like if Sudama had a voice and he questioned Krishna when something felt wrong. What if he was still humble, loving, and deeply devoted, but not silent? What if he opposed Krishna when he believed it was the right thing to do - not out of pride, but because love sometimes demands honesty? What if devotion did not always look like folded hands, but sometimes like standing firm?

Would that have made Sudama less worthy, or would it have made the friendship even deeper?

Maybe Krishna, being who he was, would not have loved Sudama less for having a voice. Maybe he would have understood him more. And that is perhaps why their friendship would have survived even truth, even questions, even opposition.

I am sure their bond would still have endured - because Krishna is God.

Krishnas of Kalyug want devotion, not truth. They just expect the Sudamas to feel obliged and stand in a corner with folded hands. If Sudama finds his voice or questions, it will not tolerated and the friendship would end.

The Mirror You Handed Me

You are telling me, “Thanks for showing me the mirror and my true worth.”

First - see how well I know you, because I had already written about this exact reaction.

Second - isn’t this the pot calling the kettle black?

In the last episode we had, I told you very clearly that there was something I did not like. I told you that you insulted me. I told you that I am hurt. And what did you choose after that? Sarcasm. Silence.

So that is MY exact worth in your eyes, isn’t it?

That I should not have a voice? That I do not have the right to feel hurt? After all, who am I?

Moreover, you are telling me that I showed you your true worth - after reading my last blog!! After the episode where you weighed my worth in monetary terms? But Raja Saab ko toh sab maaf hai, isn’t it?

Before the latest episode, I come and hugged you so many times because I missed you. I have told you what you mean to me. I have stood by you. I have defended you. I have categorically refused to throw you under the bus and prevented others from doing that. I have always tried to be there whenever you needed me. I have cried for you. I have cared. I have prayed for you. I have counted on you.

I neither have the intention to tell you your worth nor the right to do that. 

But yes. I am showing you the mirror. Someone needs to. I do not have the right. But its not the first time nor the last time. That is because I care. 

Maafi Hukum 🙏

The Friend You Used to Be

You were once someone rare to me.

Not because you did grand things - though you did, and I don't deny that - but because you noticed me when most people didn’t. It felt that you understood me. In a world where presence is often loud but shallow, yours was quiet and real. That is what stayed with me. That is what mattered.

And it still does.

I’ve thanked you many a time. I still do. And I have meant it each time. May be you won’t understand why, but you mattered to me in ways that had nothing to do with what you could give. I of course never had much. I am not a man of means - I never was - but I have always tried to show up in the only way I knew how: by being there. Emotionally. Physically. Honestly. Consistently.

But now, may be in the last couple of years and definitely in the last one year, it feels that things have changed. I feel that you have changed and I guess you feel that I have changed. 

The person who once felt warm and genuine now feels distant and 'calculated'. I am sure that when you do things for people, you do not expect much. However, now very frequently, I hear that I did 'so much' for XYZ and I did not get anything in return. And invariably, that 'so much' is materialistic, expensive things. I have found it both strange and different. After all, friendship and generosity are not 'investments' and people's emotions cannot be 'returns'.

That shift is hard to ignore.

Another change is in the people you spend time with. They can be put in three broad buckets (and I am not including women; that's a very different subject). 

There are those above you. These are the ones you seem eager to impress, to emulate. I’ve watched you around them. You stop being yourself. You put up a performance. You are often quite fake in front of them. And I really do not think they respect you the way you think they do. I genuinely hope I am wrong.

Then there’s the middle ground - new friends who are similar to you in status. Comfortable, safe, predictable. No imbalance there, so no tension. You like spending time with them.

And finally, the ones who’ve been around the longest. The ones who knew you before all of this. The ones who care. This group also includes people who have not made it and probably never will. At least they would never achieve the definition of success that you have. You meet them but off late, it feels that you do not respect them. Their value seems negligible. Their voices are inconvenient.

Isn't it strange how the people who stood by you the longest now seem to matter the least?

The past couple of years have made this even clearer. You went through difficult times. To a large extent, it was self-created. From one bad habit to another (let us call them that as I really do not want to be specific). When you felt low, sad, depressed, angry - I was there. Not perfectly, not always with the right words, but I stayed. I questioned you when I had to because I am a friend and not a 'Yes Man'. I supported you when you needed it. I didn’t walk away, even when you tried to push me out. 

During this period, you made several choices. Some of them, extremely hard to defend. Harder to watch. I remained by your side.

I tried to be the 'voice of conscience' and told you the right thing to do. You never did. I still remained by your side.

You hurt people. You dismissed them. You subordinated everyone and everything - work, family, friends, me and - above all - your pride and self-respect. That's the part that hurts me the most because I took pride in you and respected you. I tried to stop you. You distanced yourself, proudly declaring that you no longer care what anyone thinks - that you’re finally living life for yourself. 

Well...you are succeeding. And I genuinely hope you are happy.

You pushed everyone away. Even those who once stood firmly beside you. You’ve drawn lines where there didn’t need to be any. And yet, when those same people feel bad and step back, you act surprised!!! Hurt, even!!!

That part is almost poetic.

I can already imagine your reaction to all of this - something along the lines of, “After everything I’ve done…”

And that’s exactly the point.

Not everything can be bought. Not loyalty. Not respect. Not self-worth. Contrary to what you might believe now, not everyone is transactional. Not everyone trades dignity for gifts, or affection for favors. Some people still hold on to things like pride and self-respect. Outdated concepts to you perhaps but they matter to people. 

For what it’s worth - I never stayed because of what you offered. Not the gifts. Not the gestures. Not the things you insisted on giving. Take back everything you have given and more....but return my old friend.

I stayed with you because of who you were. You used to care. You used to listen. You used to understand without needing explanations. That version of you - that’s the one who mattered. This version… now feels unfamiliar. 

I am hurt.

You know that. Not because you understood. Now, I no longer expect that from you. You know that because you asked, "are you mad at me for something"? And I told you. And then what? You chose silence over conversation. I would never do that to you because this is not what friends do.

But ya, it’s an interesting choice - to walk away from someone who doesn’t need to ask if you’re hurting, because they already know. You have said that to me. I understand when you are hurt, sad, angry, depressed, anxious. I get that by looking at you. I get that from your voice. If I have to ask you then I have failed as a friend.

I am someone who stayed. I am someone who cared. Someone who, despite everything, still does.

But I don’t expect anything from you now. Not explanations, not apologies, not a sudden return to who you were. High hopes, isn't it??!! What am I even thinking? I know your reaction if and when you read this would be what I said earlier, "Wow...after everything I’ve done, this is what I get...."

I just hope - genuinely - that whatever path you’re on keeps you as happy as you believe it will. That the bubble holds. That the wonderland doesn’t crack under its own weight.

And that your 'Pursuit of Unrealistic Happiness' turns out to be worth it. Because it did cost something. More than you realize - or may ever be willing to admit.

Take care. I mean that. Even now. 

You have hurt me immensely. You know that - unlike you - I do not have many friends and when I needed anything, I have always turned to you. Thanks for taking that away. You have shown me, with remarkable clarity, how little I matter.

But I still care and...I always will. I have not given up on you. It is not in me at all. I still hope that one day you will stumble your way back to senses and understand your priorities and the people who genuinely care. Will wait...

Girl on the Foot-Over Bridge

Yesterday, my wife showed me news reports about the death of Ali Khamenei’s granddaughter in a joint USA-Israel strike on Iran. While I personally support Israel’s position in this conflict, the photograph of the 14-month-old child visibly unsettled my wife and made me pause as well. I found myself thinking about the fate of the child, who would not have understood what is going on around her. Well, she was not alone as no one completely understands what is going on.

This brief exchange with my wife somehow took me back to 2016. To a personal experience but the context is of Syrian civil war and the refugee crisis.

I would not go into the details of the crisis but by 2015, millions of Syrians were attempting to flee the conflict, seeking refuge across borders. Several neighboring countries like Turkey, Lebanon, Jordan, Iraq and Egypt hosted millions of refugees.

In Europe, Germany opened its doors to a large number of asylum seekers. I remember that I would often joking remark that Germany appeared to be attempting to correct a historical wrong, though I questioned whether such a gesture was necessary or prudent. Countries including Austria, Sweden, Netherlands, and Greece also received significant numbers of refugees.

I remember being particularly struck by France’s position. France has had issues with Islamic fundamentalists. It probably started with the 2010 ban on face-covering veils (burqa). Then in January 2015, the offices of French satirical magazine Charlie Hebdo in Paris were attacked by Islamist gunmen, resulting in the deaths of 12 people. The assault was motivated by the magazine’s earlier publication of cartoons depicting the Prophet Muhammad, which had generated significant controversy. “Je suis Charlie” (French for “I am Charlie”) emerged as a worldwide slogan, hashtag, and emblem of solidarity in defense of freedom of expression and the press.

That France was also among the nations that extended shelter to Syrian refugees – though in comparatively small numbers (roughly 50,000) - struck me as bizarre! France indeed has been facing issues as there have been concerns about security, national identity, and the capacity to integrate migrants.

Back in 2015, in various discussions and on social media, I was vocal in criticizing what I perceived as an overly casual and permissive approach by several European countries. I argued that unchecked influx of Syrian refugees was risky as it was believed that even radicals, involved in mass killings in Syria, were using the situation to get into Europe. I maintained firmly that Syrian refugees should remain within neighboring region.

Yet, even as I held that view, a single image shook me. In September 2015, a two-year-old Syrian boy drowned in the Mediterranean while his family attempted to reach Europe. The photographs of his small body on a Turkish beach became the symbol of the crisis. The image haunted me for some days and may be weeks but then like it always happens, we moved on and forgot about it. My strong opinion about the Syrian refugees did not change though.

Then something happened in late 2016. It did not change my opinion but gave me another perspective.

It was the time when me and my family were preparing for our relocation from Malaysia to India. We had spent 5 years in Malaysia and were looking forward to the move to India. We were quite busy with the packing, paperwork and coordination with the cargo company. Our departure was probably a week away and then – like always in the last minute - my wife reminded about my daughter’s bicycle. My daughter was 5 years old and was extremely fond of her pink and white bicycle. It would have been prudent to sell off the bike and buy a new one in India but so much was about to change in her young life that I did not want her to part with something familiar and comforting.

Transporting the bicycle required dismantling it properly, so we decided to take it to the same shop from which we had bought it. The incident happened on the way.

It must have been around 3PM and we took a cab to go to the bicycle shop. At a busy traffic junction, I noticed a well-built man in a thick brown T-shirt and grey trousers. He was barefoot, moving from one vehicle to another, asking for help. Homelessness and begging, while not as visible as in India, do exist in Kuala Lumpur, so at first I paid little attention. A few seconds later, I looked again and saw that he was holding a piece of cardboard that read: “Syrian Refugee. Looking for Work and Help.” I looked at him for few seconds as I had not met or seen someone from Syria before. I was certain that I would not give him any money - primarily because of my strong opinion regarding Syrian refugees.

I looked away.

Near the junction stood a foot-over bridge (or pedestrian overpass) and I noticed a little girl sitting on the stairs. She was about the same age as my daughter. She was fair, had unkempt hair, and was barefoot. She was wearing a soiled frock - which I am sure would have been white back in Syria. Both the frock and the little girl looked as though they had seen much better days.

She watched the Syrian man with an expression that can be best described as a combination of affection, hope, and a child’s boredom. I looked at the Syrian man and at that point I noticed that, while he was busy going from one vehicle to another, he was regularly looking at her. While I am not certain, but I think she was his daughter.

Even in that condition, the little girl was strikingly beautiful. Her face radiated innocence. I kept looking at them – especially the little girl.

(Since I am sure you are thinking about it, let me clarify that it was a busy signal and we were there for few minutes.)

Then something else happened. A ragpicker – apparently a Malaysian homeless man - appeared from nowhere and started climbing the stairs of the foot-over bridge. He too had unkempt hair, wore a dirty shirt and khaki shorts. He was wearing a pair of slippers. When he reached the girl, he stopped. I felt a surge of anxiety. I looked at the Syrian man but at that moment, he was not looking at his daughter. This made me even more anxious.

Suddenly, the ragpicker reached into his bag and took out a half-eaten packet of potato chips. I distinctly remember shouting a silent “No” from inside the car. The girl looked at the packet, then at the man, then back at the packet. I hoped she would refuse, worrying that it might be unhygienic. I also questioned the ragpicker’s intentions. We clearly had different concerns in mind. She was thinking of hunger, I was thinking of hygiene and her safety.

She glanced toward the Syrian man, who at that very moment - much to my relief – looked toward her. He paused briefly and nodded, giving silent permission. The girl smiled. I still clearly remember that beautiful smile. She looked at the ragpicker, smiled again, and accepted the chips. The ragpicker gently and lovingly touched her head and walked away. I felt a sudden strange pain in my heart. It broke my heart to see she was so hungry that she was willing to take a half-eaten packet of chips.

Just then, the traffic began to move. Argghhh!!!

I do not know why but I asked the taxi driver to stop. He refused, saying he could not halt in the middle of the junction. Of course! I asked him to cross and stop beyond it. He replied that our destination was only 400 metres ahead and that it would be better to stop there. I agreed.

When we reached the bicycle shop, I carried the bike inside and asked my wife to supervise the dismantling as I have to go somewhere. She looked puzzled but did not question or stop me.

I ran back toward the junction hoping to find the girl there. I was desperate and ran as fast as I could. Somehow, it still took a while! When I reached the junction, I was relieved to see that the little girl was still sitting on the same step, eating the chips slowly, as if determined to savor each bite.

I crossed the road and approached her. She was startled to see a chubby Indian man hurriedly approaching her - while gasping for air!! (okay, I am not a runner......yeah yeah, I am not even a walker)

I stopped and looked towards the Syrian man, who by now had noticed me and was hurriedly moving towards us. When he reached us, I asked him if the girl was his daughter. That is when I realized that he does not understand English. He obviously did not understand Hindi, and I did not understand his language. He was looking at me with suspicion.

So, using gestures, I tried to explain that I too had a daughter of similar age. I took out my wallet and handed him all the cash inside. I do not know how much money was in it as I never have an idea about the money in my wallet, but it was not a small sum. I handed him the money and tried to explain to him that it is for her, and he should buy her something to eat. With gesture, I blessed her.

I do not know how much he understood but I think he did get some of it. He no longer looked at me with suspicion. He said a few things softly, but I did not understand him. He extended his hand and we shook hands. He had very thick, very strong hand and a firm handshake. I looked at the girl and smiled. She was looking at us and had a puzzled expression on her face. I wanted to say something to her. I think I did. She did not understand me. I said bye to both and turned back to go to my confused wife and my little angel - who was probably thinking that we have come to buy another bicycle for her! When I reached her, I hugged her and silently prayed that she stays away from misfortunes.

Three thoughts came to me on that day - two immediate, one later.

The first was that I wished I had more money in my wallet. They clearly needed help.

The second thought troubles me to this day. I wish I had bought her some snacks on the way. There was no time to buy a proper meal, but I could have stopped - during my marathon - to buy her something to eat.

The third thought came hours later. And it returned yesterday, when my wife showed me the photograph of the deceased granddaughter of Ali Khamenei. Whatever positions we may take on conflicts between nations, religions, races, or political ideologies, when we arrive at the most fundamental human level - the level of an individual, especially a child - our instinct is not to argue but to feel for them. And if possible - unless the person is truly evil or it's a matter of nation's interest - respond with humanity.

That is the way it should be. Before we are citizens, supporters, critics, or opponents, we are human beings. And it is precisely this reflex - to see the child before the flag, the person before the politics - that is likely to preserve what is best in us. If anything can sustain humanity through its divisions, it is that simple, uncalculated impulse to care. 

The Day I Dread, Long Before It Comes

A dear friend’s daughter left for Australia today to pursue higher studies. I do not know about the friend but somehow it is making me extremely emotional. I of course know the kid, but I am not even remotely close. We have hardly interacted. Yet it is making me emotional. She is still in transit, and I cannot stop myself from thinking about her, how she will manage everything, how she will cope up in a new country, and a new environment. She is a confident girl, and I know that she would be able to manage everything well. Then, why am I freaking out?

Or is it that I am thinking about MY little one? One day she would also step out of the house to explore the world. We have been over-protective, and I know that day I would be crying buckets and shitting bricks! 

Am I thinking all of that in my subconscious mind? May be. 

I do understand that eventually everyone has to find their own path. There is no escaping that truth. Growing up, I lived largely in a cocoon-like environment of military cantonments - with structured lives, protected spaces. When I finally stepped out into the real world, I was not ready. I struggled. A lot. But I survived. I adapted. I settled down. 

So logically, there is no reason why today’s kids - despite their carelessness, indiscipline, lack of life skills (wait… I seem to have accidentally switched on my Typical Dad Mode) - will not manage the challenges that come their way. In fact, they probably have far more exposure, confidence, and resilience than we ever did.

But I am scared. And I dread that day.

Cost of Closeness

If an angel were to grant a wish, many would ask for wealth, comfort, or joy. Others would wish for health and happiness for those closest to them. 

At other times, I might have chosen the same. But not today. Not at this moment...

At this very moment, my wish would be different. I would ask for the ability to conceal my emotions - my angst and pain - when they are caused by those I love, and for the power to not utter a word when an inner storm is stirred by their words or actions. 

The deepest suffering rarely comes from strangers.

नहीं रखता दिल में कुछ, 

रखता हूँ ज़ुबान पर

समझें न अपने भी कभी.....

What Blogging Means to Me: Shouting in a Deserted Street

I recently wrote a blog post and shared it with friends and family before publishing it. Since the topic was mildly controversial and referenced specific people, I wanted to be factually accurate and politically correct. 

They read it, approved it, and encouraged me to go ahead. 

The trouble is that most of them did not take any time in giving me the go ahead. Knowing some of them, I wont be surprised if a few just wanted to see what happens next!!! 

When the post finally went live and nothing happened, some of them sounded oddly disappointed. They asked why no one was reacting. I explained that I am not Chetan Bhagat or Amish Tripathi, and hardly anyone reads my blogs. That explanation disappointed them even more. But frankly, I was surprised they had assumed otherwise.

Since the expected 'explosion' never occurred, the next suggestion was even more interesting. I was advised to actively send the blog post to various people - including those who might be offended by it! 

Needless to say, I refused. 

For me, blogging serves two very simple purposes.

First, if there is a topic I feel strongly about - something that has been bothering me, unsettling me, or occupying too much mental space - I write about it. It could be a rant, a strong opinion, something that moved me or even plain cribbing. Writing helps me take it out of my system.

Second, once I publish a post, my opinion is out there. It feels like standing in the middle of a street and shouting at the top of my lungs. That, to me, is liberating. Now, whether the street is crowded or completely empty, it does not matter. Its irrelevant. I have shouted. People could have heard me. If they chose not to be there in the street, that is not my concern. 

And for some posts, I genuinely do not mind the street being empty!

What some of these friends expect is - since shouting in the street did not result in a Kambal Kutai (i.e., royal bashing) - I should now go knocking on doors and shout directly into people’s faces.

Sorry doston but I am not that stupid!! 🙂

I am happy shouting in my deserted street.

On Respect, Recognition, Biasedness and Overreaction

Recently, I came across clippings from a television interview of Mary Kom on 'Aap Ki Adalat with Rajat Sharma'. The interview attracted widespread criticism, largely due to the tone she adopted and certain remarks she made while speaking about her ex-husband. As someone who has long admired Mary Kom, I found the interview deeply disappointing.

Mary Kom’s achievements need no reiteration. She is one of the most accomplished athletes in Indian sporting history: a six-time World Amateur Boxing Champion, an Olympic bronze medalist, Asian Games and Commonwealth Games gold medalist, and a recipient of India’s highest sporting and civilian honors, including the Padma Bhushan, Padma Shri, Rajiv Gandhi Khel Ratna, and Arjuna Award. Beyond boxing, she has served as a Member of Parliament and is widely regarded as a pioneering figure who helped bring visibility and acceptance to women’s boxing in India. 

Several of Mary Kom’s major awards and victories came after she became a mother, and this is widely regarded as one of the most remarkable aspects of her career. Her journey from humble beginnings in Manipur to global sporting acclaim is inspiring enough to have warranted a biographical film. I have been a big fan of Kom.

It is precisely because of this stature that her remarks felt jarring. Publicly discussing personal disputes is rarely dignified, and in this case, it seemed unnecessary. More troubling was the manner in which she questioned her ex-husband’s role and contribution, making statements along the lines of “what kind of man lives off a woman’s money,” alleging that he withdrew money without her consent, and mentioning that he never had a successful career. These remarks were tasteless.

One could argue that this was a case of being caught off guard by the media. People who are not media savvy, can get sucked into a drain in front of cameras. Television seeks headlines and can exploit personalities; Mary Kom did seem to have been drawn into that trap, which did not favor her long-term reputation. However, after watching the clips, it is difficult to attribute everything to lack of media training. The remarks did not seem accidental; they appeared to reflect genuine beliefs. There seemed to be a clear lack of respect for her ex-husband as he did not earn much and, during their marriage, remained dependent on her earnings.

The videos and comments of Mary Kom triggered several thoughts and emotions. For example, it immediately reminded me of a remark made by actor and stand-up comedian Chris Rock that “Only women, children, and dogs are loved unconditionally. A man is only loved under the condition that he provide something.”

It also raised a hypothetical question. What if the comment was made by a successful man for his wife who, quit her job and set aside her passions to take care of home and children? What if the man had said that his wife was not successful and had belittled her contribution? What if the man had questioned her for withdrawing money or spending money without his permission?

All hell would have broken loose. The backlash would have been swift and severe, ...and rightly so.

This also brought to mind a personal anecdote involving two people I know. One of them is an entrepreneur - intelligent, driven, and successful. After a strong career in financial services, she pivoted to start her own business, which is now doing well and receiving media attention. She is married to someone I know, and both are part of a common WhatsApp group. Lets just call her - Sierra Kilo.

On one occasion, Sierra Kilo shared a news item or media coverage related to her business in the WhatsApp group. It naturally triggered a wave of congratulatory messages. Everyone applauded her success. One member of the group – the second character in this anecdote – congratulated her 'and her husband' in his message. In my view, it was a jovial, light-hearted, and seemingly harmless comment, likely sent out of courtesy since Sierra Kilo's husband is also a member of the group...though it certainly could have been avoided.

He referred to the husband as a “sleeping partner,” which, in my interpretation, served a dual purpose: to include the husband and at the same time, not take anything away from Sierra Kilo. I DO NOT believe the term was used in a formal business sense (Sleeping partner (also called silent partner) refers to a person who invests capital in a business but does not take part in its day-to-day operations or management). She, however, did not appreciate the message and objected on the WhatsApp group, clarifying that the business is a 'sole proprietorship'; she is the 'only Founder' and she runs it 'single-handedly'. 

It did not need clarification but its okay.

However, the matter did not end there. She subsequently wrote a 200+ word LinkedIn post on the subject. In it, she questioned why, when a woman entrepreneur succeeds, people say, “Congratulations to you and your husband.” She questioned why “educated, well-meaning individuals struggle to fully acknowledge a woman’s independent professional journey?”. In her words, “I was taken aback. But only briefly. Because, truth be told, this isn’t new. So I did what I always do – tuned out the noise, focused on the work, and kept going.”

The post got some ‘Likes’ and supportive comments, predominantly from women.

I found the <over>reaction immature, over-the-top and reflective of a tendency to frame the situation through a victimhood lens, while simultaneously projecting an image of being brave and unfazed.

What about the common phrase men have heard for generations: “Behind every successful man, there is a woman”. This has been said about business leaders, sportsmen, and almost every man 'who made it'...if he had a female partner. It has even been suggested that gallantry award winners from the military could fight for the country as there was a woman taking care of the home. How many men have posted about it and tried to play the ‘Victim Card’? How many say that why are you taking some credit away?

I feel that whenever it is said that “Behind every successful man, there is a woman”, it is meant as a compliment for the woman, acknowledging their emotional, domestic, or logistical support. I admit it is a big support and must be acknowledged. That is why, most logical men would never take offence, whenever they hear this.

This brings the discussion back to Mary Kom. Was her husband not providing similar support? I cannot claim personal knowledge of their marriage, but in several earlier interviews, Mary Kom herself openly credited her husband, Onler Kom, for standing by her, managing the household, and caring for their children while she trained and competed. She had repeatedly said she could not have achieved what she did without his support.

Why, then, does that support no longer merit acknowledgment? Is it because they are no longer together? Because the gap in their public and financial stature has widened? Or because personal grievances have reshaped her perception of his role? Whatever the reason, it appears that she is no longer comfortable sharing even a fraction of the credit she once willingly attributed to him. That is entirely up to her but she has no business mocking him in front of millions.

Let me make it very clear that the intention of the post is not to bash women (yeah right...too little too late) but I admit that I am getting dangerously close to that territory. I am just sharing my views on avoiding over-reactions, acknowledging your partner (if and wherever possible), being respectful and .....not having the 'Feminism ka Suleimaani Keeda'. (Oh no! I was this close to de-escalating the situation and I screwed up again!!)

On a serious note, my observations are not about any particular gender; I fully acknowledge that men are often insensitive and frequently discount women’s contributions, at times quite blatantly. Another real-life example illustrates this, involving people I know (examples, it seems, are closer than we often think).

A woman I know is married into a family that appears to be well-off (not certain as I am yet to ask them for their bank statements). They are into several businesses - including a two-wheeler dealership, possibly with multiple outlets. She and her husband slogged their asses off to establish and grow the two-wheeler business. While it may have appeared to several people (or they assume) that the husband has done everything, I know for a fact that she also managed several aspects of the business along with managing home and kids. I am not alien to the automotive industry and I had several discussions with her and was always impressed by her understanding and inquisitiveness. They were also planning to expand into a four-wheeler business, and both devoted immense effort over the years to make it happen.

Despite her relentless work and juggling of responsibilities, which included businesses, home, children, husband’s health, in-laws, another person (I know him too) repeatedly made disrespectful remarks. He would often suggest that she is all set, what does she have to worry about, she can chill and enjoy the fruits of her husband’s hard work and enjoy his wealth. 

Highly insensitive (Buddy, you make all of us look bad). In this case, a question similar to the one asked by Sierra Kilo - why educated, well-meaning individuals struggle to acknowledge a woman’s hard work - is entirely valid.

So, stupidity clearly has no gender.

Anyways, much has been said already. Ultimately, this discussion is not about taking sides or keeping score. Contributions, whether professional, emotional, domestic, or logistical, should neither be belittled nor exaggerated to suit a narrative. Acknowledging a partner’s support should not feel like a dilution of one’s own achievement. Genuine insensitivity should be called out but at the same time, if you do not like a comment, do not over-react turn it into a public outrage. 

The real maturity lies in balance: recognizing effort and support where it exists, calling out bias where it is real, and resisting the urge to turn every imperfect interaction into a larger battle.

(NOTE: If you are curious about how the individuals in the two anecdotes responded, here is what followed. The man in the first instance chose not to react to Sierra Kilo’s response; he was taken aback but decided to let it pass. In contrast, the woman in the second instance addressed the remark directly and firmly at an appropriate moment. She is no abla naari - in fact she is quite the opposite - which is precisely why I fondly refer to her as Jwaala Daaku!!)

If Life Had a Restart Button

If people could have a background score, mine would definitely be.... 

🎵Give me some sunshine, give me some rain, give me another chance, I wanna grow up once again...🎵

Sometimes I wish life were a video game - one where, if you were happy, you could simply continue playing. And if you were unhappy, or felt you had made an error, you could return to a previous stage and replay it.

Or perhaps the game could offer two lives. The first would be exactly as it is now: unplanned, instinctive, and imperfect. A life where we make mistakes, where regret and joy coexist, where happiness arrives unexpectedly. Everything happens organically.

But there would be an option of a 'second life', which would still be played by us - the same person who lived the first life - but this time with the knowledge, and learnings earned in the first life. We would move through life with a clearer awareness of what hurt, what mattered, what we should have done, what we should have avoided, and what we should have let go. Choices would be more deliberate, and hopefully, the mistakes would be fewer.

I agree, it is a weird and random thought. But then again, isn’t that exactly what my blog is all about? Random thoughts. As if I make sense in other posts!

Not sure how would I play the game but ya, I have too many regrets and would be tempted to replay or use the second life.  

A Breezy, Relatable Read: Musafir Cafe

Recently, I read a Hindi book after a long time, and the book was Musafir Cafe. I had been seeing frequent recommendations for it on Instagram, likely because I am always on the lookout for good Indian writing. I find books by Indian authors, or stories set against an Indian backdrop, far more relatable.

Musafir Cafe is a fiction novel by Divya Prakash Dubey. It revolves around a relationship between a confused man (someone I could easily relate to) and a woman with a devil-may-care attitude. The characters undergo an emotional journey, and the story is distinctly contemporary in its setting and sensibilities.

The book does have its shortcomings. Perhaps intentionally, to maintain a fast pace, the characters feel somewhat underdeveloped and the story lacks depth in parts. Certain episodes unfold too quickly, making them appear unrealistic and rushed.

That said, I found the story relatable and emotionally resonant on multiple levels. It transported me back to a phase in life when everything felt exciting and beautiful - largely because of my naivety. Are we not all naive when we are young? We believe we understand love. We think our story is unique and our partner is different. Inevitably, my own hawai kila (castle in the air) came crashing down not long after, and I probably deserved that rude awakening. Yet, in retrospect, life felt beautiful then, much like the intensity of a first crush or first love in our teenage years.

I was so engrossed in the book that for two consecutive nights I kept reading late into the night - what some sarcastic people like my wife and friends would call early morning - until I finished it. I wanted to know what happened to Sudha and Chandar and simply could not sleep without closure.

I agree that the book is not a 'piece of art' and does not come even remotely close to being considered an outstanding or highly artistic literary work. However, the fact that it hooked me and I was restless till I completed the story shows that - I have an average taste...but that aside - the book delivers what it intended. A portion of the story hit the rewind button and I felt a strange pain in my chest, the kind I last remember feeling about 20-25 years ago, or perhaps even earlier. 

Musafir Cafe is a breezy read with a simple story, one that I believe will resonate with people who have 'grown up' but were in love during their teenage years or early twenties. If you are one of them, I would recommend reading it. 

Motivation or Discipline

A question I was recently asked was simple on the surface: When will you develop the motivation to start going to the gym and working on your health? While I did not have an immediate answer, it led me to reflect on a broader and more important issue - what truly matters more in achieving long-term health and fitness: motivation or discipline?

In my view, motivation can be a useful starting point, but it is inherently fragile. It can be influenced by circumstances, emotions, external validation, or short-term results. Motivation can ignite action, but it rarely sustains it. Discipline, on the other hand, is what ensures continuity when motivation fades.

I say this with the benefit of personal experience. At various points in my life, I have been highly motivated to work on my health and reduce weight. During those phases, I made meaningful progress and achieved noticeable results. However, each time an obstacle arose - whether a setback, a disruption, or a loss of momentum - the motivation weakened, and the entire plan eventually unraveled. I have observed similar patterns in others as well.

In contrast, I look at my friend Prashant Joshi as a clear example of discipline in action. He made a conscious decision to improve his fitness, overall health, and muscle development. He structured his diet, committed to training under a highly experienced trainer, and followed through consistently. While motivation undoubtedly played a role at the outset, what truly stands out is his discipline.

He adheres to his routine regardless of social settings, holidays, or business travel. Where even highly motivated individuals occasionally deviate during gatherings or indulgent moments, he remains consistent. He avoids food and drinks that would compromise his progress and maintains his workout schedule without exception. Over time, this discipline has translated into visible and sustained results.

This contrast reinforces a belief I hold strongly: motivation may start the journey, but discipline determines whether the journey continues. Discipline enables persistence, consistency, and steady progress - qualities that are essential for achieving long-term goals, particularly in health and fitness.

For these reasons, I believe discipline is not just more important than motivation; it is the foundation upon which lasting change is built.

And for the record, I have neither!! 😜

Language, Politics, and Education: Finding Balance in a Diverse India

I am not sure what I am writing about as I am covering two topics here. First is Language, which has become a hot and highly politicized topic evoking a wide range of emotions. There are debates over 'National Language' and India's 'Three Language Policy'. The whole country is now divided into 'Hindi-Speaking States or Hindi Belt' and Rest of India (largely the southern states). The Hindi-speaking states (largely northern states) do not understand the regional languages especially the languages spoken in the South Indian states and now, several people (not everyone) in the states in South India as well as the state of Maharashtra suddenly do not want to hear anything except their mother tongue. 

This is a highly politicized debate. I feel that when political parties run out of ideas, they start creating divide among people and resort to 'we vs. them'. For example, Raj Thackeray does not like people from UP and Bihar and wanted them to be kicked out of Mumbai. Why? As per him, people from UP and Bihar take away the jobs from Maharashtrians and also pollute the city, commit crimes and what not. Economically backward people in UP and Bihar migrate to bigger cities in search of opportunities and do odd jobs that help them feed their family. They work as security guards, sell vegetables, drive taxis, work as cleaners, plumbers, etc. Yes, some of them may be engaging in crimes, but are crimes committed by people from UP and Bihar only? When we look back at the history of underworld in Mumbai, the involvement of Muslims and Tamilians is significantly high. Why not speak against them? And as far as taking away jobs are concerned, Mumbai being the financial capital, attracts a lot of people from various parts of India - especially Gujaratis, Marwaris from various states. Why not speak against them? Mumbai is such a cosmopolitan city that you would find people from all parts of India. Then why single out people from UP and Bihar? Because they are poor, they do not have a voice, and they are soft targets. Such topics are raised by politicians without a meaningful and productive vision and they use it to get easy and quick mileage. Does not help much and for too long. Look where Raj Thackeray is.

Language debate is similar. Suddenly we hear about incidents in Karnataka, Maharashtra, etc. about arguments and even fights over mother tongue. A delivery boy from north-east India was beaten up in Bengaluru for not being able to speak the regional language of that state. My friend, travelling with his family, was asked to get out of a taxi in Bengaluru for the same reason. Another friend's car was hit by a biker in Pune and instead of apologizing, the biker started arguing about why my friend cannot speak Marathi!! So why is all this happening? It is because political parties are telling people that Hindi is being forced upon them, and they should only speak their mother tongue. 

I completely agree that people in South India (or in any non-Hindi speaking state) must not be compelled to learn or speak Hindi and they should have the freedom. Knowing Hindi would indeed help - especially if you are in transferrable jobs, administrative jobs (IAS), military etc. however, it must not be forced.

But is the story complete? Is it one-sided where only Hindi is being pushed down the throat of people in non-Hindi-speaking states? 

That brings me to the other topic that I want to cover. Education. 

I keep reading about how Indian education system is outdated. We are not promoting practical knowledge and as a result, today's generation is highly unemployable. In today’s day and age, when information is available at the click of a button, we should not compel our children to learn by rote. Instead, the focus should be on topics that would are relevant today and tomorrow. The focus should be on practical knowledge. The focus should also be on life skills.

But what are we doing? In several parts of India (especially the non-Hindi-speaking states), an entire subject is effectively being wasted, which is deeply concerning. Education is extremely expensive, and more importantly, a 'forced' subject could be replaced with something far more useful or better aligned with a child’s interests and aptitudes. 

You may be wondering what am I talking about? Okay, let me take a step back and explain.

Due to the politicization of 'language' (as covered above), several schools in Southern States (and few others. E.g. Maharashtra) are compelling students to learn regional language. For example, I stay in a Southern State and in my daughter's school, she has to learn English, Telugu and pick one between Hindi or Spanish. I could also argue that just like 'Hindi should not be pushed down the throat', regional languages should also not be made mandatory in the respective states. This is politics at the cost of education system and the future of kids.

I acknowledge that it is reasonable for children (native or non-native) within a state to be 'encouraged' to learn the regional language, as language plays an important role in culture, social integration, and local identity. However, concerns arise when such learning is made mandatory rather than encouraged. This issue is further compounded by the reality of frequent inter-state mobility driven by employment for many families.

For example, consider a boy who moves from Delhi to Pune and takes admission in Class 6. He is suddenly required to study Marathi and, understandably, struggles initially. Over time, he manages to cope and even develops some interest. Subsequently, his father takes up a job in Hyderabad, and the child enrolls in Class 7 at a new school. He is then required to study Telugu, and the struggle begins again. What does he ultimately gain? A limited knowledge of Marathi that he is unlikely to retain without continued practice or practical use. I do not even want to take this scenario further where the kid had to move to Delhi in class 8^th or 9^th because - even though it is an imaginary kid - I don't want him to commit suicide in my imagination!!! 

The point is that when each state (or some schools within the state) mandates its regional language as a compulsory subject, children who move often are required to repeatedly start new languages, which can limit continuity and result in only surface-level learning rather than proficiency. It brings me back to my earlier point regarding the broader concern about the relevance of education to future employability. Industry leaders regularly highlight the gap between academic curricula and practical skills. The focus should be on subjects that are relevant today and in the future. Emphasis should be placed on practical knowledge, as well as on the development of essential life skills. 

I hated it when my daughter was compelled to choose between Hindi and Spanish. I want her to know Hindi like people from South India would want their kids to know their mother tongue. At the same time, learning a foreign language is not merely cultural, but a functional/technical skill with clear value in a global economy. Restricting choice by forcing students to choose between Hindi and a foreign language reduces their ability to tailor education to their long-term goals. The impact of such policies is also uneven. For example, students native to a South Indian state can often study English, the regional language, and a foreign language, while students from outside that state must study English, the regional language, and then choose between Hindi and a foreign language. This creates an imbalance in opportunity.

Encouraging regional languages is important but making them compulsory without flexibility does not fully account for modern mobility or the need for choice. Instead, a more balanced approach would promote regional language learning while allowing families the flexibility to decide what best serves their children’s future. Though I am thinking on the go, policymakers and educators can think of giving some benefits or merit points for knowing a regional language that is not your mother tongue. Something like, if a student from Bihar knows Tamil, he/she would get an additional attempt in UPSC or would be considered for a slightly lower cut off or something like that. Some system can always be worked out, and it would definitely be better than the current one. 

In the end, I would only say that India’s linguistic diversity should make us feel proud and not divide us. We should not allow our languages to become a political instrument or a compulsory academic burden as it would only cause both social harmony and education to suffer. Language should function as a bridge, not a barrier created by short-term politics.   

Reading, Rest, and the Elusive Pursuit of Sleep

Sleep has been a long-standing challenge for me. For several years, I survived on barely 3.5 to 5 hours of sleep a day. While I am now averaging a little over five hours—which is a meaningful improvement—I would like to push this to six hours or more in 2026. As expected, this is easier said than done. Old habits, after all, are remarkably persistent. Late nights spent watching podcasts or playing chess have been part of my routine for far too long.

Well-meaning experts around me suggested a familiar remedy: avoid screens after 10 p.m. and replace them with reading. No television, no laptop, no mobile phone—just books.

On paper, this advice suited me perfectly. I have always enjoyed reading, even though I rarely seem to “find the time” for it. I am also, apparently, an unconventional reader. I read four or five books in parallel. Much like music, my reading depends on mood and timing. If I have thirty minutes, I pick up a short story. On some days, it is fiction; on others, military histories or sports biographies and autobiographies. Occasionally, depending on the mood, I turn to Hindi books, which I find easier to read.

Taking this advice seriously, I began reading more in 2026. Today is only the 12th day of the year, and I have already finished three books—one cricketer’s autobiography and two works of fiction—and I am well into my fourth. By any reasonable standard, this feels like a personal victory.

Unfortunately, it is also a problem.

The purpose of reading was not to increase my book count but to help me sleep on time and sleep enough. Instead, I have discovered that books are no less dangerous than screens when they are good. A couple of nights ago, I started reading at 10:30 p.m. and stopped at 5 a.m.—only because my vision became blurry. The night before that, I managed to put the book down at a comparatively respectable 3:30 a.m.

So yes, reading is a good habit. It is just not the solution I was hoping for.

For now, I intend to exercise patience—and, hopefully, discipline. I will continue reading, but with one important constraint: no fiction at night. Good fiction is simply too hard to abandon mid-chapter. Whether this revised strategy succeeds remains to be seen.