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 🙏

Dagger in the back

I once believed I could read people the way sailors read stars.

So when the room grew heavy and my name became a measure of efforts and contributions, I expected the familiar constellations to hold.

• The newest bond became a shield. Defended me. Even fought for me. 

• The classmate/friend took a swipe at me.

• But the oldest bond - the one that I trusted and thought I understood - joined hands with the classmate/friend. 

This is when I have been safeguarding the interest of these two very individuals to the extent possible and create a balance that makes sense for everyone!

Funny how betrayal is rarely loud. Sometimes, it arrives as silence where 'friendship' should have spoken.

Learnt a valuable life lesson today. And I did not even know about this battle!!

(Disclaimer: This is not a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely intentional)

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...

Not My Natural Reaction

You said that you wanted to go. My natural reaction would have been to ask you to stay. However, these days, my natural reactions - out of love, affection, care, and concern - are being questioned and disliked. 

So I stopped myself. 

And a little piece of me died inside.

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.....

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!!)

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. 

Mid-Life Crisis

When I was in my thirties, I’d often hear about this infamous ‘mid-life crisis’ that supposedly grips men like a sudden monsoon storm. The stories painted vivid pictures of otherwise rational men behaving ‘abnormally’—buying fancy motorbikes, setting off on unplanned adventures, or running marathons for reasons only they understood. I used to smugly think I’d be different. Rational. Immune.

Fast forward to today, I’m in my mid-forties, and so are my friends. And let me tell you, mid-life crisis is real. It’s here, and it’s hilarious. 

Let me introduce you to Exhibit A: my good friend Vikash Kumar Singh. (name not changed because... to hell with confidentiality).

Vikash and I go way back. I first met him on my very first day of college in 1997. Having just arrived straight from a cantonment, I was as lost and clueless as a freshman could be. My entire perception of college was based on what I'd seen in movies, and naturally, I was terrified of ragging. As luck would have it, the notice board announced that the start of the session had been postponed by couple of weeks. While relieved, I wanted to confirm this critical piece of information, but the question was—who to ask? The last thing I wanted was to mistakenly tap a senior and land myself in an impromptu ragging session. And then, I spotted him. A short guy, standing there intently reading the notice board. He looked harmless enough, and I figured even if he was a senior, he wouldn't be the ragging type. So, I tapped him on the shoulder and asked about the session. 

He turned around, and to my utter shock, the guy had a full-grown mustache! In my head, only professors and uncles had mustaches of that magnitude. He confirmed the news, and we got talking.

That was the beginning of a friendship that would see us through college as classmates, MBA as batchmates and flatmates, a stint at one of the Big 4s as colleagues, and of course, countless drinking sessions over the years. Vikash has always been the kind of guy who’d say yes to a drink, no matter the time, place, or occasion.

Now, out of nowhere, Vikash Kumar Singh has suddenly become a marathon runner!! Yes, he still says yes to drinks and is still the eternal 'Cheers' guy but now he has become the guy who’d rather run 10 kilometers than a whole night drinking session. A recently saw him saying no to a chilled beer on a Sunday afternoon. If that is not mid-life crisis, do not know what is!!!

The second example? Yours truly. But hey, I’m still in the planning stage and haven’t started doing anything too crazy—yet. I recently turned 45, and a few of my resolutions for this year include (a) no alcohol in 2025 and (b) at least one weekend holiday each month! We haven’t even crossed the first month of the year, and we’ve already done a weekend stay at a resort. Next week, I’ll be driving down to a small town 200 kilometers away for a weekend trip with… Vikash Kumar Singh! Next month, I’m heading to my hometown for a longer break. And at the end of that month, I’ve planned a weekend trip to a tourist attraction about 450 kilometers away. For the following month (i.e., March), I am already planning a trip to a hill station. So far, these are only plans but as I said, I’m still in the early stages of this mid-life crisis disease!

The third example is a little complicated. I used to know this person quite well. My observation is that he has always been fascinated by the relationships others have, and somewhere deep down, he feels he has never truly experienced that. He carries a fairytale-like image of relationships and love—one that, unfortunately, doesn’t align with reality. The truth is, there is no such thing as a perfect relationship. Every couple has their own set of challenges—some work through them, while others part ways.

Lately, this person, now in his late forties, has been convincing himself and those around him that he has never had a meaningful relationship. He genuinely believes it. And suddenly, he has embarked on a desperate search for new relationships. This, too, is a common symptom of mid-life crisis, but in his case, it’s manifesting in a more concerning way. He is losing his sense of identity, the respect of those around him, and, perhaps most worryingly, his own self-respect. I no longer know him well, but I sincerely hope he finds his way back. His support system has been doing their best, but so far, without much success. I just hope his mid-life crisis doesn’t turn into a long-term crisis.

That’s mid-life crisis for you. It doesn’t knock. It barges in, rearranges your priorities, and makes you do things you never thought you would. While most choose harmless hobbies/passions like bikes or trips, some choose the path of sheer stupidity.

Navigating the Ups and Downs of Relationships in the Modern Era

Let's talk about something that's been on my mind lately: relationships. Have you noticed how it feels like separation and divorce are almost trendy nowadays? It seems like everywhere I look, there's another couple hitting rocky waters or calling it quits altogether. It's got me wondering, have relationships lost their depth and understanding compared to our parents' and grandparents' generations?

I mean, let's get real here. Did our folks and their folks not have their fair share of issues? Of course, they did! Every couple has their highs and lows, and every individual comes with their own mix of amazing qualities and not-so-great ones. Even those couples we envy for their seemingly perfect happiness? Scratch beneath the surface, and you'll find they've got their own set of issues too. But here's the kicker: some couples tough it out, while others are quick to call it quits.

Now, divorces and separations are on the rise, and there's a laundry list of reasons why: incompatibility, miscommunication, infidelity, addictions, domestic abuse, family drama—you name it. But here's the thing: these big-ticket problems are often just the flashy symptoms, not the real root of the problem.

So what's the real kicker? Miscommunication. Yep, it's the biggie. In a world where egos often run the show, truly understanding each other can feel like an uphill battle. But here's the silver lining: most issues can be smoothed out with some good old transparent, heart-to-heart talks. It's all about putting yourself in the other person's shoes, ya know?

Of course, I'm not saying every relationship can be saved. Sometimes, priorities clash so hard that there's just no common ground to stand on. That's the real deal of incompatibility right there.

So, what's the takeaway from all this rambling? Well, maybe it's time we all put a little more effort into listening and understanding each other. After all, a little empathy can go a long way in keeping those flames of love burning bright.

I miss you my friend

Friendship is like a delicate dance, full of ups and downs. It's not always easy to make and keep friends; it's a journey with lots of twists and turns, highs and lows. But it's in those tough times that you really see how strong a friendship is.

I find myself reflecting on this as I navigate the complexities of my own friendships, grappling with the inherent struggles that come with maintaining these cherished bonds. I have always been one to cherish my friendships deeply, holding them close to my heart as pillars of support and solace in times of need. However, in recent times, I have found myself grappling with the painful reality of losing touch with some of my closest friends, a realization that has left me feeling adrift and alone.

One friendship, in particular, stands out as a poignant reminder of the fragile nature of these connections. This friend, who once served as a confidant and a source of comfort, has now become a somewhat distant figure, the warmth of our conversations replaced by mostly formal and awkward conversations. The rift between us began with a series of misunderstandings and miscommunications, each one driving a wedge further between us.

The first crack in our friendship appeared when I felt hurt by some insensitive comments made by my friend. Though I knew deep down that his intentions were not malicious, I couldn't help but feel wounded by his words. Instead of addressing the issue calmly and rationally, I let my emotions get the best of me, leading to a confrontation that left us both feeling uneasy.

The final blow came when a long-running joke between us took a turn for the worse. What had once been a light-hearted jest between friends had morphed into a source of ridicule, causing me immense discomfort and frustration. Despite my repeated attempts to convey my displeasure, my friend failed to grasp the seriousness of the situation, leading to a heated exchange that left our friendship hanging by a thread.

Looking back, I realize that I could have handled things differently. I could have been more patient, more forgiving. I could have approached the situation with a level head and a willingness to understand rather than react. Yet, in the heat of the moment, I let my emotions cloud my judgment, causing irreparable damage to a friendship that meant the world to me. This friend has stood by me in dark times and I should have understood that. I am difficult person to be with but he is one of the few, who was always there.

As I sit here, grappling with the aftermath of these events, I can't help but feel a profound sense of loss. I miss the easy camaraderie we once shared, the effortless way we could talk for hours on end about anything and everything. I miss having someone to confide in, someone who understood me in a way that few others did.

But amidst the pain of this loss, I am reminded of the resilience of friendship. I am reminded that true friendship is not defined by the absence of conflict, but by the ability to overcome it. I am reminded that even in our darkest moments, there is hope for reconciliation, for healing, for a return to the bonds that once united us.

So, to my friend, I want you to know that I miss you. I miss the laughter, the tears, the shared moments that made our friendship so special. I hope that one day, we can rediscover the magic of our friendship once again. Until then, I will hold onto the memories we shared, cherishing them as a reminder of the bond we once shared and the possibility of a brighter future ahead.

Heartbreaking News

Life is so busy and everyone has their share of problems. Where is the time to feel the pain of others? I often hear that from people and I do not blame/question them at all. That is because it makes sense.

But then, I do get moved by pain of others and get the strong urge of doing something for them. It could be financial support or just putting an arm around them and hearing them out.

Just now, I read the news regarding a man in Chhattisgarh, who walked 10 KMs carrying the dead body of his 7 year old daughter. The child was suffering from high fever and extremely low oxygen levels. She succumbed to her conditions in the morning. When questioned, the authorities said that the man was told that a 'hearse' (a vehicle that is used for transporting a dead body to funeral) would be provided but the man left with the body. It does not sound convincing but that is not the point.

What must be going through the father's mind during the 10 KM walk? He must have been dying inside as his daughter was no more. Did he feel the weight? Did he speak to his daughter's body during the walk? Did he want to walk with his daughter as he would have got the chance to hug her all through the long walk? Was it difficult for him to put down his daughter at the end of journey? 

I called Ananya, hugged her and cried. She kept asking the reason but I could not say anything. I just hugged her for several minutes and kept crying.

I looked for the details of the man on internet....I do not know why...

May be its because of my love for my daughter, a father-daughter story especially moves me. I still cannot get over the incident in Kuala Lumpur involving a little girl and her Syrian refugee father.

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Useless

I am feeling useless. My brother needs help. However, I cannot help him. All due to my insecurities, fears and lack of confidence. The one time he needed me and I am not helping him. Useless.