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!!)

Six Books In, and Counting

My resolutions for this year included 'Reading More' and 'Writing More'

Writing is limited to this silly blog. The primary intention is: stress busting, and also to speak to anyone who is reading. 

Reading, on the other hand, feels deeply productive. I am enjoying immensely and far more than I expected. I have been fairly disciplined about it too. I have already finished six books (image above) this year (one was started in late December though), and I am currently on my seventh. Actually, not exactly the seventh - I am somewhere between the seventh, eighth, and ninth as I am reading three books simultaneously! 

Hopefully this good habit would not fade away as we march ahead in the year. 

Border 2: Nostalgia, Nationalism, and the Weight of Legacy

I watched Border 2 earlier today. I must admit that I was not particularly impressed by the trailer, and my reservations were many.

The first was the casting. Varun Dhawan and Ahan Shetty are, in my view, not among the strongest actors of their generation. In fact they do not even come remotely close, though I liked Varun in 'October' and 'Badlapur'. I feared that even if the movie and storyline was compelling, weak performances could dilute its impact. 

My second concern was more fundamental. I am not a big fan of sequels that are made to cash-on the success of the 'original'. This felt like one of those cases. Sunny Deol, after a long time, witnessed significant success with Gadar 2 (again, not even remotely as good as original Gadar) and he and everyone else wanted to use the opportunity. Border 2 made a lot of sense and they went for it. Whether it would translate into a good cinematic product was uncertain.

The third concern was Sunny Deol himself. At 68, playing a Lieutenant Colonel is not easy to pull off convincingly. I had no doubt about his ability to bring intensity and emotional energy to the role - few can do that better - but age is a reality, especially when portraying a serving combat officer.

Despite all this, there was one thing I was absolutely certain about: I would watch Border 2, and I would watch it on the big screen.

When the original Border released in 1997, I was seventeen. I grew up in army cantonments, surrounded by officers and army kids, and I wanted to join the army myself. I watched Border on 'First Day, First Show' - and then again the second day first show, and the third day first show. Seems I used to be quite busy in afternoons and evenings!! 

The film was not cinematic genius, but it was raw, energetic, unapologetically patriotic, and full of Pakistan-bashing. 

Also, this was before multiplexes became the norm. Watching a film like Border in a single-screen theatre in a small town was a completely different experience. The audience whistled, clapped, shouted slogans, hurled abuses at Pakistan, and roared “Bharat Mata ki Jai” It was electric - comparable to watching a limited-overs cricket match at Eden Gardens (Kolkata) or Chinnaswamy (Bengaluru) or Chepauk (Chennai). In contrast, watching such films in multiplexes today feels like watching Test cricket at Lord’s. Audience is civilized and restrained and atmosphere is quite.....dead. Later, I watched Border for the fourth time on the big screen, and the experience was particularly special as it was in a military theatre, surrounded by an army unit.  

Out of respect for that legacy, I wanted to experience Border 2 in a theatre, regardless of my initial disappointment with the trailer.

So, how was the experience?

The film is not for purists. It takes several creative liberties in order to further glorify the soldiers and heighten dramatic effect. It is inspired by real incidents and real heroes, but not all portrayals are historically precise. 

• Sunny Deol plays Lt. Col. Fateh Singh Kler - a fictional character believed to be inspired by Brigadier Hardev Singh Kler, MVC, who later retired as a Major General. 
• Diljit Dosanjh portrays Flying Officer Nirmal Jit Singh Sekhon, PVC (1945-1971), whose story was one of the primary reasons I wanted to watch the movie. Sekhon is a towering inspiration. As I have mentioned in an earlier blog, while I deeply admire all military heroes - especially gallantry award recipients - Flying Officer Nirmal Jit Singh Sekhon is one of the three I find particularly remarkable. Flying Officer Sekhon attained martyrdom on 14 December 1971 while defending Indian airspace during the Indo-Pak War. He was posthumously awarded the Param Vir Chakra, India’s highest gallantry award, and remains the only officer of the Indian Air Force to have received this honour. Confronted with overwhelming odds, Sekhon displayed exceptional courage and composure, choosing to engage the enemy rather than withdraw. In a lone defensive action, he disrupted and repelled a Pakistan Air Force attack, forcing multiple enemy Sabre aircraft to disengage. His determined resistance significantly blunted the assault and safeguarded vital assets. Sekhon's extraordinary courage and flying skills earned him praise even from the opposing side. The PAF pilot who eventually shot him down, Salim Baig Mirza, is reported to have later praised his opponent's valor in an article, leading to the expression, "some enemies are also respectable".
• Varun Dhawan plays Major Hoshiar Singh Dahiya, PVC (1936-1998). Major Hoshiar Singh was my father’s instructor in 1975 at the Indian Military Academy (Dehradun) and later retired as a Colonel. He is celebrated for his extraordinary bravery and leadership during the 1971 Indo-Pak War, notably in the Battle of Jarpal. He captured a heavily fortified enemy position and, despite severe injuries, successfully repelled multiple counter-attacks. Leading from the front and refusing evacuation until the ceasefire, he inspired his troops to victory and inflicted heavy casualties on the enemy. His valor earned him the Param Vir Chakra, cementing his legacy as a legendary war hero.
• Ahan Shetty essays the role of Lieutenant Commander Mahender Singh Rawat, inspired by Captain Mahendra Nath Mulla, MVC (1926-1971), who was posthumously awarded the Maha Vir Chakra, India's second-highest wartime gallantry award. Captain Mulla displayed exceptional bravery during the 1971 Indo-Pak War as commanding officer of INS Khukri. When the ship was fatally damaged, he refused to abandon it, ensuring the safety of his crew first. He went down with his ship, exemplifying supreme leadership, sacrifice, and devotion to duty.

Yes, several scenes are fictionalized and inconsistent with strict military history. Did that spoil the movie? No, I enjoyed it.

Yes, the war sequences are lengthy, but understandably so. The filmmakers wanted to showcase the heroism of multiple military icons, and that demands screen time. Performances across the board are commendable - including those of Varun Dhawan and Ahan Shetty, who pleasantly surprised me. The makers ensured several connections - in terms of character names, dialogues, songs - with the original Border and I particularly enjoyed those parts. 

Some scenes were quite emotional, even tear-jerking. Perhaps they may not affect everyone the same way, but having seen the lives of military personnel up close, many moments resonated deeply with me. To my embarrassment, the tears did not go unnoticed - my wife on my right and a dear friend on my left both saw them. My wife even handed me a tissue, making matters worse! Its okay, grown men are allowed to cry - secretly, in a dark theatre, hoping to go unnoticed.

Overall, Border 2 is not a brilliant film. It is lengthy, and takes more than a few creative liberties. Yet, it deserves to be watched. It makes a sincere effort to bring to the mainstream audience the stories of several military heroes - some of whom are not widely known outside defence circles. For that intent alone, the film deserves appreciation. It may not match both - the Indian military history as well as the legacy of the original Border - but it respectfully salutes it. Sometimes, that is reason enough.

'12 Years - My Messed-Up Love Story': Ending We Once Hoped For

 

Recently, I picked up a Chetan Bhagat novel after a long time, and the book was 12 Years: My Messed-Up Love Story. I have always liked his writing. It is simple, direct, and easy to read. I do not approach his books expecting literary brilliance. I read them because they feel familiar and because they often echo emotions and situations that many of us have encountered at some point.

The story follows Saket, a divorced man in his early thirties, and Payal, a young woman at the beginning of her adult life. Their relationship unfolds through a series of emotionally charged moments that reflect confusion, attachment, and vulnerability.

The writing is fast-paced, which worked for me. I read the book in long stretches without much effort. Some parts, however, felt childish. The episode where the couple gets caught stood out in particular. It felt exaggerated and immature, and it momentarily weakened the emotional credibility of the narrative.

The ending, too, felt unrealistic. Yet, interestingly, it was the ending I found myself hoping for. There was a phase in my life when I believed such endings were possible, when I imagined that time, success, or circumstance could rewrite unfinished stories. Looking back, that hope feels naive, but it was sincere. I no longer think that way, but reading this book reminded me of that younger version of myself who did.

12 Years: My Messed-Up Love Story may not be a book I revisit, but it quietly brought back a version of my own thinking that I have long moved past. For me, that is what stayed after I turned the last page.

R Ashwin Responded 😊

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. 

'R Ashwin's 'I Have the Streets': Not Your Usual Cricket Autobiography

(Image Source: https://brokencricketdreams.com/2025/06/07/r-ashwins-i-have-the-streets-book-review-refreshing-honest-unexpected/)

Recently, I read I Have the Streets by Ravichandran Ashwin, which is his autobiography (Co-authored by Sidharth Monga). Having read several sports and cricket autobiographies and biographies, I was a little unsure about this book. That is because, many a times, cricket biographies or autobiographies (lets broadly call them memoirs) are not much more than match-by-match or series-by-series narrations. In a cricket-obsessed country like India, where most readers already know what happened in those matches, such books often add very little incremental knowledge and, frankly, can get a tad boring. I Have the Streets does not have such issues. In fact, Ashwin has hardly talked about his performance in International matches.

Instead, the book focuses more on his journey, struggles, friends, the local and street tournaments, how he made it to the Indian team and the efforts and sacrifices of his parents. I particularly enjoyed reading about his parents; it once again reinforces how critical parental support is in shaping the journey and success of a cricketer or any sportsperson. It also shows how Indian parents parents help their children stay humble, disciplined, and connected to core values. Rather than focusing only on match statistics or celebrated victories, the book emphasizes Ashwin’s thought process, discipline, and continuous self-reinvention. 

I recall that when Ashwin started playing for India, several questions and doubts were raised. The general sentiment was that he had made it due to backing from certain people in the board, his association with CSK, and, of course, MS Dhoni’s support. The book quashes all those myths. 

His action was also quite different and attracted attention and debates. I remember a discussion with friends where I confidently pointed out that Ashwin had an “ugly” action compared to other off-spinners who supposedly had more “flowing” and “rhythmic” actions (whatever that actually means). I even cited Erapalli Prasanna as an example of a beautiful action. I remember the discussion and my arguments but honestly, I am not sure I had ever actually watched Prasanna bowl!! (Its okay, who has not made up stories to win arguments?!!) Ashwin’s tendency to tweak his action frequently and almost pause in his delivery stride made me think he was more of a 'containing' bowler, perhaps better suited for limited-overs cricket. 

Did my impression of Ashwin change later? Of course. 

While he was successful and miserly in limited overs, he turned out to be a completely different beast in red-ball cricket - not only as a bowler but also as a capable batter. Five Test centuries is no small achievement! 

Over the years, it also became evident that Ashwin is a thinking and 'street smart' cricketer: constantly analyzing his own strengths and weaknesses, studying the batsman, and adjusting accordingly. He would not shy from trying everything. He would modify his run-up, arm speed, release height, flight, length, and more. In order to stay ahead of the batsmen, he also added several variations to his arsenal - the sodakku ball (carrom ball), arm ball, top-spinner, even leg-spin. He had the ability to bowl six different but robust variations in an over. 

Ashwin also received considerable flak for 'Mankading', a controversial cricket dismissal where the bowler runs out the non-striker for leaving their crease early. The term itself annoys me, as it unfairly gives a negative connotation to a perfectly legal dismissal and, in the process, maligns a great Indian cricketer, Vinoo Mankad. I see absolutely no issue with this form of dismissal. A non-striker has no business leaving the crease early to gain an unfair advantage. All arguments about it being against the “Spirit of the Game” are, quite frankly, horseshit! I fully supported Ashwin during the controversy - after all, what is sport without the hunger to win - but the issue was that I supported him while sitting on a couch at my home and somehow he did not come to know about my complete, total, unwavering, and unequivocal support!!! 

I was so impressed by Ashwin skills and overall attitude that I often say that Ashwin is one of India's best test captains - that we never had. Once again, no one has ever heard that as I say that from the same couch!

Coming back to the book, I found the book extremely engaging, relatable and compelling. I am usually a slow and somewhat strange reader (as covered in a recent blog), but this book was genuinely hard to put down. I finished it quickly and enjoyed every bit of it. The book offers interesting personal insights and genuine stories rather than just a dry sporting memoir. 

It is also and an 'easy read' i.e., the author has not switched on the 'Shashi Tharoor mode' and the language is simple and effective. I would highly recommend this book to everyone, especially young and aspiring cricketers or sportspersons, and their parents.

Overall, I Have the Streets stands out as a thoughtful sports memoir. It is ultimately a story about perseverance, learning, and professional growth—making it relevant not only to cricket fans but also to readers interested in personal development and high-performance mindsets.

Finally, one aspect I particularly liked is that the book ends with India’s ICC World Cup victory in 2011. This leaves ample room for a 'sequel'. Ashwin achieved so much after 2011, right up to his retirement and he is still quite young. So a Part 2 (and even Part 3) of his story is plausible and if it happens, it will almost certainly be worth reading.

Happy 85th

This 46-year-old man, burdened by many personal challenges, finds that beyond his routine daily prayers -and apart from prayers for his daughter - he more often than not prays not for centuries and success of another person: Virat Kohli. Relieved and happy today. 🥹

Ikkis: A Tribute That Falls Well Short

Recently, I watched the movie Ikkis, which is a biopic of 2nd Lieutenant Arun Khetarpal, the youngest recipient of India's highest gallantry award, Param Vir Chakra.

While I am inspired by all military heroes, especially the recipients of gallantry awards, Arun Khetarpal is one among the three who I find especially remarkable. They are Captain Vikram Batra ((Nickname: Shershah, Param Vir Chakra awardee, Kargil War 1999, Battle of Point 5140 and later Point 4875, killed in action), Flying Officer Nirmal Jit Singh Sekhon (Indian Air Force fighter pilot, Param Vir Chakra awardee, 1971 Indo-Pak War, air defense of Srinagar Air Base, engaged multiple enemy aircraft single-handedly, killed in action) and of course, Second Lieutenant Arun Khetarpal (Indian Army officer, 17 Poona Horse, Param Vir Chakra awardee, 1971 Indo-Pak War, Battle of Basantar, tank commander, destroyed multiple enemy tanks, killed in action).    

I have read a lot about Arun Khetarpal. His fearless maneuvers on the battlefield left the enemy in awe and forced them to retreat. He is widely recognized as the Indian tank ace of aces, credited with the destruction of ten confirmed enemy tanks during the 1971 Indo-Pakistani War. His decisive actions during the Battle of Basantar neutralized a critical Pakistani armored counteroffensive, demonstrating exceptional tactical skill, composure, and resolve. This combination of technical mastery and personal bravery firmly established his reputation as one of the most formidable tank commanders in Indian military history.  

Despite his tank being engulfed in flames and ordered to save himself, he had famously declared, "No Sir, I will not abandon my tank. My gun is still working and I will get these bastards." His unyielding bravery earned him admiration, even from his adversaries, and the posthumous Param Vir Chakra, India's highest wartime gallantry award. At just 21, he made the ultimate sacrifice, embodying the spirit of valor and patriotism. 

I was also inspired by his mother, who sent her son to war with the powerful words: "Fight like a lion and don’t come back a coward."

Having shared posts on social media every year to commemorate Arun Khetarpal’s birth and martyrdom anniversaries, I was extremely thrilled when I came to know that they are making a movie about him and eagerly awaited its release. The immense excitement and anticipation was further heightened by the director Sriram Raghavan’s reputation as a filmmaker with a strong body of work ('Ek Hasina Thi', 'Johnny Gaddaar', 'Badlapur', 'Andhadhun' as Writer & Director and 'Monica O My Darling' as Producer). 

When the trailer finally dropped, however, I felt somewhat disappointed with the casting - particularly with legendary actor Dharmendra portraying Arun Khetarpal’s father, Brigadier M. L. Khetarpal. I felt that Dharmendra appeared too old for the role, even though I knew that Brigadier Khetarpal was 81 years old during the episode depicted in the movie.

Finally, I watched the movie in December end, the day it released. Did I like the movie? Not really.

Biographical war films occupy - especially one on the life and heroics of a legend - carry not only artistic responsibility but also a moral one. In Ikkis, while the intent is good and the subject powerful, the film falls short of the legacy it seeks to honor. 

In my opinion, a key issue with the movie is that an incident, which happened post his martyrdom when his father visited Pakistanis and is an 'anecdote' in the entire story of Arun Khetarpal, has been made the centerpiece. No doubt it is an emotional incident and there is no denying its sensitivity. Its perfectly fine to use the incident as the base through which Arun's story had to be narrated but in the movie it has become a parallel and an equally significant story. 

The other concern lies in the depiction of Arun Khetarpal himself. In several parts of the film, he is portrayed as an overzealous, confused, and immature young man. While it is true that he was only 21 at the time of his martyrdom, he demonstrated a level of grit, bravery, remarkable maturity, clarity of purpose, leadership, and selflessness that many older and more seasoned military personnel do not exhibit. The emphasis should have been firmly on these defining qualities, while secondary incidents could have been suitably downplayed or omitted altogether.

The film also appears conflicted in its messaging. Though it is meant to celebrate the bravery of a hero of India-Pakistan war, the maker for some reason has hesitated to show Pakistan as the enemy. A particular dialogue, where Arun Khetarpal’s father questions who the “enemy” really is, feels irritating and bizarre. Arun Khetarpal's father was also an army officer. I agree that soldiers do not have 'personal' animosity towards the soldiers of the other army as everyone is only following orders. However, to suggest that Arun Khetarpal's father did not believe that Pakistan is an enemy, especially after what has happened before, during and after the war, is something which I found highly questionable.

In the end, Ikkis feels like a film uncertain of what it wants to say. It neither fully embraces the genre of a war film nor delivers a definitive tribute to one of India’s greatest heroes. Arun Khetarpal’s life and sacrifice deserved a narrative that celebrated valour, clarity, and inspiration. The film should have been rousing and uplifting; unfortunately, it comes nowhere close. There was not even a single 'goosebump moment,' something that almost every well-made war film is able to deliver.

I only hope that someday, a more focused and powerful film will be made on the life of 2nd Lieutenant Arun Khetarpal - one that truly reflects his courage, honors his sacrifice, and inspires generations to come.

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.

The Odd Ritual of Solicited Tributes

In recent years, a curious custom has taken hold: the request for friends, acquaintances, and even near-strangers to create videos, voice notes, or written tributes for milestone celebrations (birthday, kids birthday, anniversary, parents anniversary etc.). The intention is harmless enough—collecting warm sentiments to honour someone’s birthday or anniversary—but the practice carries an awkward side.

Not everyone asked to participate has a meaningful connection with the individual being celebrated. Some may feel indifferent; others may even have a strained history with them. Yet the expectation remains to produce a glowing message filled with affectionate remarks. The result is often a collection of comments that, while polite, lack sincerity. They may sound pleasant, but they are hollow.

This is indeed discussed but in smaller groups and side-conversations, where the prevailing tone is often one of irritation. 

I always wonder: what value is found in hearing praise that was crafted out of obligation? If the words are not genuine, the exercise becomes less a celebration of a relationship and more a performance designed to fill a montage.

Perhaps the more thoughtful approach is to encourage contributions only from those who share real bonds with the honouree. Authentic sentiment, even when modest, far outweighs elaborate statements offered out of social pressure. Meaningful occasions deserve meaningful voices—not rehearsed lines delivered due to an obligation.

Pata hai hum match kahaan haare?

India has just lost the second Test match against South Africa in Guwahati. Considering that losing a Test at home was a rarity until about a year ago, the chatter in the media is unsurprising. Since October 2024, India’s overall Test record (home and away) reads 3 wins, 2 draws, and 7 losses!! At home, the numbers are even more alarming: 2 wins and 5 losses; and the two victories coming against West Indies—currently one of the weaker Test sides in world cricket.

(Infographic created through Gemini. Apologies for the typos; AI is still learning)

Naturally, fans are furious. Yet I doubt this frustration will endure. India continues to perform well in limited-overs cricket, which inevitably garners more attention, and memories of these Test losses will fade soon enough. Moreover, the next Test is scheduled for August 2026—far too distant for knee-jerk decisions, even though some fans are already calling for the removal of the head coach and the chief selector.

As someone who cherishes Test cricket far more than one-dayers or the T20 circus, I am frustrated too. But at the same time, I find myself strangely satisfied—almost deriving a grim sense of vindication. That is because I expected this. The current and former custodians of Indian cricket dismantled a functioning system and are now reaping the consequences.

There is a memorable moment in MS Dhoni: The Untold Story where Sushant Singh, portraying Dhoni, asks a friend after a loss: “Pata hai hum match kahaan haare?” (“Do you know where we lost the match?”). Indian cricket fans and the media could ask themselves the same question today.

We did not lose this match today. Nor did we lose it when the team was selected, when the schedule was crafted, when legends were nudged aside, when an arrogant and self-centered coach was appointed, or when the chief selector took charge. All of these factors did contribute but the real damage was done long before any of that.

There was a phase in Indian cricket when the bigshots of the BCCI were stripped of control due to multiple controversies. A Supreme Court–appointed committee—headed by Vinod Rai—was entrusted with running the board. During this period, Virat Kohli and coach Ravi Shastri enjoyed considerable autonomy, including significant influence over team selection. And they delivered. Under Kohli, India lost only two home Tests and held the No. 1 Test ranking for several consecutive years. Fans admired this era, but it generated insecurity among many others. In a sense, Kohli grew bigger than the BCCI itself—a situation the old guard resented deeply. Some former cricketers, especially those who have long been more political than sporting in their approach, also bristled. Even a few of Kohli’s peers were unsettled.

Thus began a calculated effort to cut Kohli down to size—or push him aside altogether—once the committee’s tenure ended. The BCCI leadership, heavily intertwined with political figures, did not want the public backlash of sidelining a star player themselves. They needed a former cricketer to front the operation. Saurav Ganguly, a successful captain and a transformative figure in Indian cricket, was cast in that role. As BCCI President, he was tasked with curtailing Kohli’s influence.....and he delivered.

Kohli was told to relinquish limited-overs captaincy in both ODIs and T20Is. While he was willing to step away from T20 leadership, he wished to retain the ODI captaincy—a request brushed aside under the pretext of avoiding split captaincy, a principle later abandoned without hesitation. The manner in which the episode unfolded, including leaks of sensitive information to the media, was unfortunate and ultimately pushed Kohli to resign as Test captain. Sunil Gavaskar even remarked, with a certain satisfaction, that Kohli’s resignation was inevitable as he would have been removed anyway!!! That is bizarre as Kohli remains the most successful Indian Test captain in history.

That is where the plot was lost—and, by extension, this match and series.

Since then, efforts to marginalize Kohli have been relentless. His personal dip in form did not help, but the institutional push was unmistakable. Gautam Gambhir was appointed head coach despite the well-known friction between him and Kohli. Gambhir has always deserved respect for his cricketing contributions and his support for the families of martyrs, but he is also a man of considerable ego. His on-field confrontations with Kohli are part of public memory, and the BCCI surely knew he would not hesitate to sideline Kohli. Once again, a player became a pawn in a larger power game.

Kohli retired from T20Is just before Gambhir took charge—though the decision’s true nature remains unclear. A few months ago, he retired from Test cricket as well. It still feels surreal that a modern great, who valued Test cricket above all formats, never even reached 10,000 Test runs—whether by choice or by design.

There is no doubt that Kohli ranks among India’s finest Test cricketers, even if Sachin Tendulkar, Rahul Dravid, and Sunil Gavaskar may stand ahead in class and achievement. But Kohli’s impact on Test cricket is unparalleled. Under his leadership, the Indian team was a fireball. Each ball, each over, each session, each innings was approached with 100% intensity, and the team gave it all. However, in the hunger to reclaim power and settle scores, BCCI has pulled down the brightest star. 

Test cricket, sadly, has become the collateral damage.

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.