All the random thoughts

"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...