All the random thoughts

Authenticity Isolation is the isolation a person experiences when they choose to be authentic rather than conform to social expectations. When you stop pretending to fit in, you may find that fewer people understand or relate to you. Is having common interests a way of avoiding authenticity isolation then? We seek people who enjoy the same books, music, philosophy, or spiritual pursuits. Shared interests give us a language, a sense of belonging, and the reassuring feeling that we are not alone in how we see the world. But perhaps there is a deeper question. Do we seek common ground because we genuinely enjoy sharing an experience, or because we find it difficult to connect without something in common? Nietzsche's challenge to herd mentality offers a useful starting point. How much of what we think, say, and do is genuinely ours, and how much is shaped by our desire to be accepted? Consider a simple conversation. We have something to say, but we hold back because it might offend...

Every year, I start with the exact same resolve: This time, I’m taking a backseat for the Ganesh festival. Let others coordinate. And every year, as the day draws near, that familiar pull returns. I find myself drawn to choose the Murti myself. While others look at height, grand decorations, or price tags, my criteria has always been singular: Find the Ganesh with the kindest eyes. Eyes that speak, eyes that offer quiet guidance. I always apologize to the idols I walk past, until I finally lock eyes with the One. Even on years when I half-heartedly agree to buy a different idol, He has His own way of intervening—creating gentle obstacles until I end up right back where I belong, bringing home the Ganesh meant for me. From the moment He’s loaded into the vehicle, our bond begins. We talk the whole way home. For the next week, He isn't just a deity to be worshipped with rigid, formal rituals; He is my closest friend. I don't get caught up in elaborate Pujas because...

There is a specific kind of artistic steel that only hardens when a creative gift meets an absolute lack of a safety net. While their father, Deenanath Mangeshkar, provided the classical foundation, his early passing transformed music from a cultural pursuit into a survival mechanism. ​The Catalyst of Necessity ​When survival is the primary driver, "perfection" is no longer an aesthetic choice—it is a competitive requirement. If their father had lived and provided a stable, middle-class path, the trajectory might have shifted significantly: ​ The Protective Shell: A comfortable routine often acts as a buffer. Without the sudden weight of supporting a family, the urgency to break into the playback industry might have been replaced by a more localized, perhaps more scholarly, focus on classical music. ​ The "Fiesty Commitment":  that legendary discipline was likely fueled by the knowledge that there was no "Plan B." Every recording session ...

When I first heard what Shailendra wrote - " Aaj phir jeene ki tamannah hai, aaj phir marne ka iraada hai" - it fascinated me with its apparent simplicity and yet, there was hidden depth in the seemingly conflicting lines. Took me a long time but here is something that I extrapolated based on that line.   There is an innate guiding light many of us live with, yet never really naming and identifying it. That somewhere in this material world exists a singular point of arrival - a place, a passion, or a person - which, if attained, would finally still the restlessness of our minds. A state where striving ceases, longing dissolves, and life feels complete enough to be surrendered peacefully. Let us call this the   material sink . God, it seems, gives everyone one. For some, it is a relationship that promises absolute belonging. For others, it is a professional pinnacle, recognition, power, or creative fulfillment. For many, it remains undefined yet deeply felt—a gravitational pul...

​"All life is a struggle to find causes for what is not." ​The Guru was in a slightly assertive mode today. The statement, made emphatically and with a benign smile, confounded many in the audience, including myself. ​The Guru seemed to like the reaction his statement caused among his followers. His smile, now bordering on the wicked, only grew broader. ​"Does anyone want to challenge this statement? How can there be a cause for what is not? Are all our pursuits futile, then?" ​The audience remained silent. ​I felt like challenging the premise but held myself back. I didn’t want to look like an idiot challenging something I barely comprehended. ​"I shall ask in private," I said to myself. ​The Guru looked around and waited for a minute or two more. He then stood up and, with a Namaskaram , told everyone to think about his last statement and come back if they really found it worthwhile to humor a madman. ​"Do not follow anyone whom ...

 The Vagabond sat quietly on a park bench inside the ITVille. His face conveyed an expression that was a mix of concern, confusion and, interestingly, bliss. An expression so unique that it can only be found on Aged Individuals (AI) in the IT industry. No where else in this flat world do we see such anomaly. A mid-level leader (ML), who was passing by, stopped to wish the Vagabond. "Happy New year, sir," the ML yelled at the AI. The Vagabond, now AI, looked at the ML with the same unique expression he had while he was sitting on the park bench all by himself. He knew that the ML was young and bubbling with anticipation for the future while he, the AI, is now fast becoming irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. "What's new about the year?" The ML was taken aback a bit. He didn't expect a conversation beyond the exchange of pleasantries. As ML he was also aware that the AI was fast becoming replaceable with, well, AI. "I guess the Earth completed one r...

“Without me your lives are meaningless.” I looked up and saw nothing. Where did that voice come from? I must be hallucinating. I went back to scrolling on my mobile. “Without me your lives are meaningless, and yet you never bother to honor me.” This time I was sure I heard it. I put the phone down, glancing nervously at the empty walls and old furniture. “Who’s talking?” I shouted into the silence. “See? You don’t even recognize me. I am a fool to expect you to honor me when you don’t even recognize me.” A wave of guilt washed over me. Whoever this was—this mysterious, indispensable presence—I clearly owed it some respect. I resolved to make amends. “I promise I’m not that insensitive. It’s just… I don’t see anyone around. Is it the plywood in the furniture talking? Ever since interior decoration became mandatory, I agree—without you, if not our lives, then at least our living spaces are meaningless.” “I am the Day, you heartless person.” “The Day??” I was baffled. Was one of my Tamizh...

 It was already well past 10 AM by the time we got out of the Lonavala train station. Not the time of the day when you expect school kids on the streets. I found one young, smartly dressed in a uniform and serious looking kid trundling along just outaside the station. Odd time and odd place (just outside the train station) for a school kid to be trundling, I thought. Must be playing truant and having fun. I caught up with him and started a conversation. "Which school do you go to?" I asked in Hindi. I asked his name before this but he just gave me a quick glance, ignored the question and moved on. Maybe he was shy. So I asked about his school. "UPS public school," he was more forthcoming with his answer this time. "Which class?" "7th," he said and looked at me to see if I was doubting his answer. He looked too small and too young to be in 7th grade. I decided to take all answers on their face value and not probe. "You look well d...

"You are from here?" He asked in Marathi.  "Not really. Have roots in Maharashtra from my father's side. I don't speak Marathi though" I responded in Hindi.  He smiled knowingly. "So tell me, how can I help you? The Goddess is getting decorated right now. So you must wait before you can get darshan"  "I wanted to know if there is any special Pooja that I can perform here"  "You can," he said. "Is there anything special? A birthday or a wish, maybe?"  "Nothing of that sort. For some reason I always had this deep desire to visit this temple. Not really sure where and how I even heard of this place the first time. The desire was so intense that I came here driving by myself all the way from Hyderabad" He gave me a long hard look. I hoped that he believed me because, if I were him, I wouldn't believe myself. Saptashrungi Devi is not really a popular temple outside of Nashik - or so I thought. Whil...

"It is suffocating inside this polythene bag. Not sure what the delay is for and what they are arguing about." A bunch of Hibiscus (Gudhal/Mandara) and Oleander (Kaner/Ganneru) flowers, plucked out from the laps of their mothers, have all become roomies in a claustrophobic plastic bag owned by an old man. While they waited for their eventual destiny at the feet of some god, they weren't very happy to find their new owner, the old man, arguing wildly with some other people on the street. The talkative Hibiscus, red with impatience, was the one who spoke out first. "Looks like our mothers—the plants, according to the humans—on the side of the street are there because some of the humans brought them there for their own sadistic pleasure of plucking us out every morning. This old-looking human has now gotten in the way and performs the heinous act of grabbing us away from our mothers much before the other humans. They seem to be arguing about that," the ...

It was pouring. I braved the rain and walked from the newly opened 'Joharfa' cafe all the way to the bus stop outside the Muffakamjah college. All the while waving at passing autos or repeatedly trying rapido without success. I had to be somewhere by 4 PM and it was already 320. I was going to be late but first things first, how was I even going to find a ride home?  The continuous auto hailing helped eventually. One nice looking chap stopped. With my head inside the auto (essentially 50% of the body and 100% of the mind was committed to the ride irrespective of the fare), I told him whereto. "He will ask for 500 at least, given the circumstances," I thought  "Baarish bahut ho rahi hai sir. Traffic mein phasenge. Chalo do sau (200) dedo"  I must have gotten lucky, I told myself while dragging the rest of the body into the auto in a flash.  We started and immediately entered into a traffic jam. I looked at my mobile and was shocked to see battery at 9%. Th...

The ashram was unusually busy. Even though it stood in the middle of nowhere, the place seemed to have found an identity of its own today. Cars lined the narrow path, and people, many more than usual, filled the air with murmurs and anticipation. The orchestrators of Guruji’s time granted me five minutes. “And only one question,” I was warned. The Guru smiled knowingly, then gave me a look that said how helpless even he was in managing his own time. “I will not bother you, Guruji. Just one question — as the Maharaj here has mandated.” A quick nod from the Guru, and a faintly approving look toward the Maharaj. “Everyone who is working,” I began, “is looking for reward, recognition, and empathy — all at once, and all the time. How do we manage that and still get them to deliver the right output?” The Guru chuckled softly. “Many people from the corporate world come with this kind of question,” he said. “I tell them all the same thing: people have to earn it.” “How do they earn that? I sup...

The hut stood quietly in the middle of nowhere. For some reason I find it less crowded of late. Maybe people aren't just finding time to see the Guru. I sat cross-legged on the floor, staring at the Guru as he sat on a slightly elevated platform. He had a benign smile as he waited for me to open up.  "Let me ask you something," I said finally. "What exactly is stress?" "Why do you ask?" the Guru said. "Are you stressed right now?"  "I guess I am. I feel a kind of pressure... not physical, but constant. Expectations—from work, family, the world—pressing in from all sides." "Someone poking you physically all the time?" he asked with a hint of mischief. "Of course not," I said, laughing softly. "It’s just... everything that needs to be done. The deliverables at work, the fear of failure, my children’s future—it all weighs on me." He looked around the hut, then back at me. "But right now," he said...

Life offers a dynamic landscape of ambitions and discoveries. Over time, we often encounter four key pursuits, each shaping the story of who we are and what brings us true fulfillment. These are the pursuit of Pleasure, Passion, Purpose, and Paramatma. Understanding how each fits into our journey can provide clarity, balance, and direction as we age. The Pursuit of Pleasure At its core, pleasure is about seeking joy and instant gratification—doing things that feel good, provide comfort, and bring immediate happiness (and many a times, instant gratification). Whether it’s indulging in hobbies, savoring good food (or bad), or enjoying moments with loved ones (sometimes amorous), pleasure forms a vital foundation for well-being early in life and offers essential restoration along the way. The Pursuit of Passion Passion goes deeper, calling us to harness our innate talents and interests to build something meaningful. For some, this results in a rewarding career; for others, it may remain a...

“I took care of you,” I said, voice thick with betrayal. “Met your every demand all these years. And yet, all I get in return is certain death — and the looming possibility of disease. You are the greatest traitor.” “Death is my destiny,” the body replied calmly. “Don’t pretend you didn’t know that. As for disease — that’s your doing. Not mine” “My doing? I fed you the best. Gave you not just water, but every drink you desired. Took you to places of beauty, treated you to the grandest of dramas and music. Weren’t these your demands? How did they become my deeds?” “When did I ever ask for those? I asked for little food when hungry, water when thirsty, rest when tired. That’s all. You — you — piled on the rest. Desires I never uttered, and yet bore in silence, because you’re the master. So yes — disease is just another name for your deeds.” “Traitor! Isn’t the mind a part of you? It was the mind that led me, suggested what to do, what to offer. I stressed myself to ensure you...

Purely seen from the eyes of an average Indian family, the H1B visa has always been a paradox — a blessing on paper, but in reality, often a home breaker. For decades, young Indian students have set their sights on American colleges. Many of them were not toppers or prodigies; they were ordinary students from middle-class families, often going to colleges that were also, by every measure, quite ordinary. Yet, the dream was never about the degree itself — it was about what came after. The H1B. The golden ticket. The promise of a well-paying job, the allure of the dollar-rupee differential, the belief that those borrowed lakhs of rupees could be repaid with ease once America opened its doors. Parents signed loan documents with trembling hands, mortgaging futures for the possibility of a brighter one. Mothers filled suitcases with masalas and memories. Fathers stood silently at airport gates, calculating silently when the first repayment installment might get covered. The gamble was alway...

I drove to the ashram with a restless mind. The road was quiet, but my thoughts were anything but.   “AI will take away all the jobs and make human lives miserable,” I kept telling myself. It had been years since I last saw the Guru, yet today I needed his clarity more than ever. When I arrived, he greeted me with a gentle smile.  “So, what troubles you?” he asked. “Artificial Intelligence—these new Large Language Models. They are mechanizing everything. People will lose jobs, livelihoods will vanish. How will humanity survive?” He raised an eyebrow. “My job too?” “Perhaps,” I said, half in jest. “The way these models structure language, they might even replace you.” The Guru chuckled softly. “Well, I don’t have a job. And I don’t need one. Look around—what do you see?” I glanced at the humble ashram: a clay pot of water, a few mats spread on the floor. Nothing more.  “Nothing of significance,” I replied. “So,” he said, “you do the same. If machines are taking...

The Guru was seated at his usual place. The Ashram was empty for a change. I walked in straight, without having to wait for a short darshan. "You seem to be in a hurry," the Guru smiled. "Not really. But I am a little agitated. You see, after that post on LLM, people started calling me a very good writer and even a philosopher." "Is that bad news?" "Indeed it is. Now I feel the pressure to keep up with that reputation. It’s as if I must churn out something deeply insightful every other day. I’m not that smart—I know it. But how do I keep looking smart? That’s stressful." "No one gives two hoots about who you are. They liked your post and said something nice. That’s it. The matter ends there." The Guru had this effortless way of grounding people. "I give more than two hoots about who I am," I blurted, my foolishness refusing to bend to his simple reasoning. "See this picture?" The Guru held up an ordinary ...

(This is in response to all those who asked me, "If Rama was embodiment of Dharma, what about Krishna?". I tried to answer and hope it makes sense) If Rama followed the path of destiny, making choices rooted unwaveringly in Dharma, does that make Krishna wrong for taking a more strategic, even seemingly unfair, approach in the Mahabharata? Was Krishna justified in orchestrating the deaths of Drona, Jayadratha, Karna, and Bhishma through unconventional means? Was he, in fact, being a hypocrite about Dharma? The difference lies in how each upheld Dharma in their respective yugas. Rama lived by Dharma — he walked within its established boundaries. He was Dharma personified, choosing personal suffering over deviation from righteous conduct. But Krishna did not simply follow Dharma — he manifested it. He stood in a time when Dharma was fractured and had to be re-established. He wasn’t just a participant in destiny — he was its architect. In the Ramayana, Rama lives in ...

In a world driven by reason, strategy, and measurable outcomes, the story of Rama from the Ramayana offers a striking counter-narrative. Rama's choices often appear illogical on the surface, yet they illuminate a deeper truth—one rooted not in reason but in Dharma. When Queen Kaikeyi asked King Dasharatha to exile Rama and crown her son Bharata, it was a move that defied logic. Every citizen of Ayodhya longed for Rama to ascend the throne. Kaikeyi's manipulation was transparent. Dasharatha was broken, Bharata would never agree to take the crown this way, and public unrest was a likely outcome. Logic dictated that Rama should stay, wait for Bharata to return, and overturn Kaikeyi's irrational demands. But Rama didn’t choose logic. He chose Dharma. As a son, his duty was to honor his father’s word—even if it was unfair or politically dangerous. Rama knew that upholding Dharma would cost him comfort, power, and perhaps the goodwill of the people. But he also knew t...