All the random thoughts

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 Without the sudden weight of supporting a family, the urgency to break into the playback industry might have been replaced by a more localized, perhaps more scholarly, focus on classical music.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...