A chat with the cat

 A Morning Chat with the Cat

This morning, as the birds chirped politely and the sun filtered through the leaves just right, I was enjoying my customary cup of tea in our little garden when I decided it was time.

Time for a chat.

Not with the wife. Not with the daughters or the  neighbour. With the cat.

She sat there, tail twitching with that brand of contempt only cats can muster, and I slipped into full Dad mode—part stern father, part weary schoolteacher  / Principal -  addressing an errant pupil.

"Listen," I began, fixing her with a look that I hoped conveyed both disappointment and the faint aroma of milk biscuits. "We need to talk. Your behaviour of late has been... concerning to say the least."

She blinked slowly. The kind of blink that says I hear you, but I’m already bored.

"You weren’t always like this," I continued. "You used to be such a sweet, well-mannered little thing. Obedient. Clean. Mild-mannered. Almost dog-like, dare I say."

At this, she yawned. Rudely. This irritated me.

"Now look at you—stubborn as a mule. Instructions are treated like suggestions, food is flung about like we’re running a buffet for invisible friends, and the water bowl? Splashed like it’s Holi."

She began to clean her paw with exaggerated disinterest, clearly unimpressed by my charges.

"And the bed!" I pressed on. "How many times have you been told not to jump on it? And yet—there you are, tail in the air, fur everywhere, like a rockstar on a world tour." 

Still no reaction. But I could sense she was listening.

"And what’s with the personal hygiene? You used to be immaculate. Now there’s always a suspicious smudge somewhere—mud, gravy, mystery. And hair on my suits too."

She paused mid-lick. I’d struck a nerve.

"And your attitude to the grandkids!" I went on, warming up now. "Poor things - They adore you. Absolutely love you. But you? You stare at them like they owe you rent. You frighten them with those slow-motion glares—like a feline mafia don sizing up a target- its disgusting."

At this, she actually turned her head. I couldn’t tell if it was guilt or gumption. 

"I talk to you with so much love,yet  you ignore me. I pet you and you act like I’m inconveniencing your royal schedule. Look, madam, this is a home, not a hotel. And you—you're not a guest. You're family. Which means—you pitch in. You engage."

She rolled over onto her back. Classic distraction technique.

"And then there’s the sheer laziness of it all. Eat. Sleep. Poo. Repeat. That’s your schedule. You don’t even pretend to contribute. If you had a phone, I swear you'd be on it all day, posting passive-aggressive reels and ghosting the dog next door."

She let out a small meow. Possibly sarcastic.

"And then what about your  garden behaviour," I added. "Running out at top speed, chewing on suspect weeds like some deranged botanist, and refusing to come in when called? No. Just—no."

At this point, my tea had gone cold, and my lecture was clearly falling on indifferent, pointy ears. She stretched, stood up, and with a flick of her tail, strolled off—leaving me mid-sentence.

I sat back and sighed. Typical.

Still, I like to think she heard me. That maybe, just maybe, there’ll be a little more purring and a little less plotting this week.

And if not—well, there’s always tomorrow’s cup of tea and another stern talking-to.

Pets

 This is serious.

 If you want to be happy, share your life with a pet.

 It can be anything – a pair of love birds, a parrot, a dog, a cat, hens and cock birds or ducks and geese. Don’t go for anything too exotic as they cost a tidy sum and require more care than the normal pet. Some advice- Don’t go for an elephant, if not you will have to empty the fridge to put it in. Not a giraffe either, because each time the giraffe must be put to sleep, you will have to take the elephant out of the fridge to put the giraffe in. Both will also eat you out of house and home. Corny joke I know – but jokes were never my forte. I am just not the among the ‘funny types. Anyway, back to my tale.

As far back as I can remember, we always had a pet at home – at least, for a large part of my growing years. (I am still growing breath ways). Another stupid joke but I can’t help it – part of growing older!

There was ‘Lovey’, the Cocker spaniel. She was loveable, to say the least, had a lovely silky coat and enjoyed biscuits. I recollect attempting to teach her to beg, but despite my, and her best efforts, it was an exercise in futility, as she was too fat and her hind legs said no! 

 Then we were talked into keeping love birds,which we bought from an old gentleman in Allahabad- Mr Eates . There was a lovely cage made, water bowl, food tray, ‘et al’ and the two little ‘budgerigars’ arrived. We were told that they would multiply and soon we would need another cage or two. Well, I presume they were both males, as there were no eggs laid, and hence no miraculous babies. Despite the old seller replacing them on and off, it was an exercise in futility. We seemed fated to have just two birds for life. Well, the plus side of this was that I spent many an hour looking at them, feeding them and at times poking them with a knitting needle and making them fly. I found them a trifle lazy. They were not exactly ‘love birds’ if you get what I mean and were fairly well behaved. We finally gave them away with the cage too. 

We then got some hens and a cock bird. They were truly productive and every morning I went around searching for the eggs that were laid in the hedge in the compound. For some obscure reason they refused to lay eggs in their coop, and so the treasure hunt had me, as the sole participant every morning. Five or six fresh eggs, made for quite an inexpensive, yet tasty breakfast every day. Then, they suddenly stopped laying eggs. Some sort of strike I guess, or a plan, as one fine summer day they all stopped laying together. I don’t quite know what happened to them, but I am sure that we did not have chicken on the menu anywhere around that time. 

I must add that the rooster was rather wild and whenever he saw either another rooster or a defenceless kid, he charged – feather all bristling as he tried to peck the enemy! We had named him Jonny and he seemed to answer to his name and would calm down when shouted at. The neighbours had a similar ‘fighter’ and my friend, Phillip and I often tried to get them to fight each other, much to the amusement of the other kids. And yes, there was blood too.  

Some years later we had ducks. Ducks were easy to keep- plenty of water and almost all kitchen leftovers for meals, and they were fat, happy and healthy. They were lazy and did nothing but waddle around all day and eat. They seemed to overeat because they did cause quite a mess.  I guess they were all males and hence no eggs were forthcoming. 

My best friend who is now my brother-in-law, kept a few dozen pigeons and he was crazy about them. We spent many an afternoon staring up at the sky watching them fly. There used to be competitions as to whose pigeons stayed up the longest, and there were prizes and stuff for the winners.  He was just a teen at that time, but quite a well known and respected pigeon breeder. 

Many families had dogs in the Railway colony, and dog fights were common. There is one sad incident I can never forget. The neighbours would go to Goa for a month or so during their summer holidays every year. One year they went off with their Tin trunks , bedding rolls and water bottles and secured their house with padlocks, telling us as usual, to keep an eye. However, sadly, their dog got locked in. It must have been quite a silly dog as it never barked, nor cried, nor scratched, or else it did so, and no one heard it. A month later when they returned, they were shocked and dismayed to find a skeleton and no more. The stench was unbearable to say the least, and it took a few days to dissipate. I am sure they were heartbroken and the whole family was devastated, as it was a loving pet that had been with them for years. 

There was another neighbour who had an extremely ferocious dog as well. It was always chained up with a rather thick chain. On the few occasions it managed to get lose, a few children and adults were sure to be bitten. It was named Tiger. Somehow any striped dog back then was named Tiger, and they sure lived up to their name. 

Many of you would know that here in Dubai we have a cat- ‘ Chanel’. She is a mix between a Turkish Angora and a Persian.  She is a beauty and I have mentioned her in stories before as we all adore her. She keeps us amused, is playful, intelligent and a natural stress buster for the family. Like most cats, she is a bit miserly with her love, does not like to be carried, and if you call her, she often walks in the opposite direction. With a personality of her own, she often has us dancing to her tune. My wife is certain that she says ‘mummy’ but that is a different story. Ever second month she gets well groomed, and a few photos are taken of her ‘looking pretty’. In reality, my phone is full of photographs and videos of Chanel sleeping, playing, walking, jumping, looking at the pigeons and in dozens of cute poses.  Believe it or not, but I do not need an alarm, as promptly at Four- thirty in the morning she jumps up and pushes her nose on to my face and ears demanding her snack, ‘Dreamies’. She does the same twelve hours later! With the granddaughter visiting frequently, I have observed that she is a trifle jealous and peers at the little one from various places, but most females are jealous by nature, so she is no exception!

My elder daughter and her husband have adopted a cat too – from our parking lot. It is an Arabian Mau. He was injured, weak and lame when they adopted him.  A year later, he  is ‘Lord and master ‘of their home. ‘Munchie’ goes in and out when he pleases, brings another cat home to play, purrs rather loudly, has extra-long legs and a thin body, and lives a comfortable life, while his sister continues to struggle as a stray. Such is life! 

My brother-in-law and his wife have a parrot. He has always had birds as pets and is quite an expert. The parrot however seems to have taken over their household. Every time we visit, we are shown how the parrot walks, talks, goes in and out of the cage, flies, swoops, plays with a ball, eats etc. I am not a big fan of parrots in general, and their parrot in particular, as it seems determined to attack me, bite my shoes, peck at my watch and in general cause a nuisance near me. They however have the parrot nibbling their ear, kissing them, sitting on their head- literally and figuratively speaking. I know verbatim how it bathes, which son it prefers over the other, when it wakes, what it does on waking, and how it does not like to go back to its cage. The parrot ‘bathing story ’is quite interesting.   I have invited them to bring ‘Nicky’ their pet to meet ‘Chanel’ but till date they have refused! 

My sister-in-law has a son, who does not actually like pets and stuff but lives by fads and whims like most teens. Recently he woke one afternoon – and decided that it was about time the family had a pet.  When he wants something, he harasses till he gets it, and so to cut a long story short, the mother took him to a pet shop, and they returned with a rather costly African parrot.  No advice taken, no questions asked, no experience whatsoever, but the parrot was brought home in a fancy, gilded cage. For the first two or three days we were inundated with calls about how clever the parrot was, how it was starting to talk, how it whistled and how beautiful it was. There were photos and videos too and relatives and friends all over the world welcomed him into the family.  Then there were two days of silence. I thought the parrot had died. However, I was wrong. They were struggling to look after the poor creature, which had stopped eating or something to that effect, so they sold it back for half the price! I was sure their tryst with pets was over and done with – I was so wrong.

They then went out and bought a pup. Duke is a handsome looking Golden retriever. We were invited home to meet him.  I admit he is smart to look at and has been with them a month already, so I guess he is there to stay. Now a days, the husband wakes at four am to take him for a walk. Then he gets back to bed. The wife then takes him for a run at five. Both have begun to look rather worn out & exhausted though they deny it’s anything to do with Duke. The maid then does ‘dog duty’ for the rest of the day and she has silently begun to rebel- the maid, not the dog. There are stores about how clever Duke is, how he has learnt to beg for biscuits, is particular about his bedding etc. The son has gone off to college in the UK and so the ownership of the pet has changed hands, as expected. 

 Meanwhile the ninety-year-old great-grand- mother lives there too, and she is determined that Duke will not enter her room upstairs, lest he drop her down. Valid point no doubt. However, the poor puppy is not allowed into the bedrooms and nor in the hall either. I do not think he will celebrate his first birthday with the family. Wish I am wrong on this one as he is a cute chap.  

I have always advocated about families keeping a pet. Yes, there is an expenditure involved  and a fair amount of commitment required  too,  but it’s the same with your kids, isn’t it?

The advantage of pets is – you don’t have to send them to school or college nor worry about getting them married, and believe you me, that is something to think about. 

And to those who do take my advice and keep a pet, PLEASE listen to this – You don’t kick your kids out of the house and on to the street, if and when you get fed up of them. 

It’s just not done.

Know your worth

 Know Your Worth

There are a few things I’ve learned about being happy and successful at the workplace - Not from a book, a workshop or a course, but from real life , having worked for over four decades in this world!

First and foremost - learn to stand up for yourself. That doesn’t mean being aggressive, defiant or difficult. It means being clear about your contribution and your intentions - not allowing yourself to be bullied into silence and knowing when to speak up. You can be kind, empathetic, respectful and firm at the same time.

Don’t ever make the mistake of confusing decency with weakness.

If you’ve worked hard, smart and consistently delivered results, don’t shy away from asking for what’s fair. This world will not give you anything on a platter. You need to speak up and be ready to back yourself with reason and evidence. It’s not arrogance, as some may want to term it - It’s self-respect. You may not always succeed, but there is nothing to lose by asking - and being humble & polite when doing so! 

And here’s a truth I’ve come to value: while intensity—working in bursts, flamboyant gestures—gets attention, it’s consistency that builds real trust. It’s the quiet, steady workers who show up every day, solve problems, support teams, and deliver without fuss—those are the people others rely on – they are often the magnets that hold teams together.

It’s crucial to also understand this: Organizations are always bigger than the individual, and no one is truly indispensable. Never doubt that.  However, the best companies know who adds real value. They recognize that good people bring clarity in vision, consistency in action, and compassion in relationships.

Such people create space for others to grow while holding themselves accountable.

Above all, they lead by example—even when no one is watching. And sometimes, it’s not about how impressive you are - It’s about how well you ensure that the work get done – its tangible results that matter in the end. That may feel like a trifle impersonal, but it’s not a bad thing - it’s part of being professional.

As you move up the ladder, something shifts. It’s not so much about doing everything yourself, but more about how you make it easier for others to do their jobs well. That’s the difference between management and leadership.

Managers keep things moving. Leaders build people.

Authentic leaders have strong values, clear vision, emotional intelligence and they listen. They respect everyone—regardless of title. They don’t hog credit, and they don’t throw others under the bus when things go wrong. They lift others up, and in doing so, rise themselves. After all- it’s a good team that brings credit to the leader.

Of course, let’s be real – it’s not always fair. Life is not always fair either, and there is very little you can do about it. What you can control, however,  is how you respond, and that’s where your real power lies.

Sometimes things get political. There are alliances, favours traded, backs scratched. It’s not always ideal - as much as we would wish it to be, but even in that kind of world, you don’t have to lose your value. Don’t play dirty just to survive. If people forget everything else, they certainly remember character, because it’s the quiet legacy that outlasts people, projects, positions, and praise.

So yes—be kind, but don’t be a pushover.

Be clear and decisive, but never cruel.

Be helpful but never let yourself be taken for granted.

Know your worth—and help others find theirs too.

That’s the real win.

Confessions of a tea purist

 Confessions of a TEA PURIST 

For most of my life, I was what you might call a proud tea loyalist. Morning, mid-morning, late afternoon—tea was my constant companion. Strong, no sugar, a dash of milk. People tried to lure me to the dark side (read: coffee) over the years. Some tried persuasion, others trickery—one even offered me a fancy mocha frappe with enough chocolate and whipped cream to be mistaken for dessert—but I held firm. I was a tea man.

Until that day.

I was at a hospital, waiting, idle, when out of nowhere, a strange feeling came over me. Not nerves. Not anxiety. It was… a craving. For coffee. Coffee?! I blinked. It had never happened before. Not once. But there it was, clear as daylight. I wanted coffee.

Now, if you’ve ever stood in front of a café counter without a clue, you’ll understand the quiet panic that followed. Coffee ordering is no small feat. It’s a language. Cappuccino, macchiato, cold brew, ristretto, flat white—and that’s just the beginning. People order coffee like sommeliers order wine: “One decaf soy caramel macchiato, extra hot, half-pump vanilla, no foam, with a dash of cinnamon.”

I didn’t want to ask for a latte and end up with something I didn’t like or understand.

So I did what any sensible person in the 21st century does: I googled. After a quick crash course, I decided cappuccino was my safest bet. Coffee, milk, froth. No extra shots, no syrups, no drama. I walked up to the counter with quiet confidence, ordered “one cappuccino, please,” and gave nothing away. The salesgirl smiled and nodded like I was a regular. She’d never know it was the first time in my life I was ordering a coffee.

And just like that, I crossed over.

Now here’s the funny part: I didn’t just stop at one cup. From that day on, I began having a coffee every afternoon at work. 3 PM sharp. Like clockwork. But I didn’t abandon tea entirely. No, no. I was still loyal—tea at 10 AM, coffee at 3 PM. A peaceful coexistence.

Until this morning.

It was 10 o’clock, and something felt… different. I looked at the clock, then at my mug. No desire for tea. Not a hint. Instead, I wanted coffee. At 10.

My peon, who sees himself as something of a coffee expert, lit up. He grinned, disappeared for a moment, then returned with a steaming cup and proudly declared:

"Sahab, main aapko ek badhiya coffee banakar deta hoon — sabko meri coffee pasand aati hai."

I suspect he’s been waiting years for this moment.

Life’s funny that way. Sometimes all it takes is a hospital waiting room and a sudden, unexplained urge to switch sides. I still love tea. But coffee—well, let’s just say we’ve grown close. One cup at a time.

And I'm feeling good

 Some mornings are a little more special than others . 

My self made tea tastes great .

My  energy levels may not be peaking but they are sufficient to get me  through to the weekend.

 Mentally,  I am  in a fairly good spot- not upbeat and singing from the rooftops but  good! 

 Professionaly , when I look back at a week, I have completed most of my  tasks and achieved what I had  set out to. 

My cat has condescendingly shown a little more affection than she normally does. She snuggled near my toes for about 30 minutes and for her and me , that's a lot. 

And I feel thankful and grateful within. 

It's probably the thought of the weekend round the corner too that's adding to the wellbeing.  

As a school boy , I waited for the weekend with its fun, games and high jinks ( not a common term I know).

I would breeze through my homework as quickly as possible, rush through the assigned chores, have a ' cat's lick' ( another uncommon term to confuse you ) , swallow down breakfast without a fuss and be out to play.

Cricket on the avenue road, marbles near by in anyone's garden, seven tiles, ' gulli danda' , caroms, ludo, snakes and ladders and other games. 

Often I would hear a war cry ' Michael' and rush back in irritation. It would be to run or cycle to the ' baniya ' to get something or the other. 

Back to the friends as quickly as possible. Luch would be golloped down( check the meaning) . I was always reminded ' have you washed your hands' !

Then more play. 

While adults had a snooze , we played, we cycled , we stole Guavas, mangoes and plums from neighbour's gardens and had a great time. 

As dusk fell, everyone made their way home . There was no TV - there was no phone. But there was so much to do and we were never bored.

Despite everything kids have today we often hear about kids being bored, depressed, angry, fed up with life, even suicidal. 

I guess it's a sad reflection of the times. 

So many of us just had the basics while growing up but we were happy.

A reflection on Leadership and Education

 A Reflection on Leadership, Innovation, and the Power of Simplicity

These famous words are attributed to Winston Churchill— “You can always count on people to do the right thing… after they’ve tried everything else.”

After many years in education and leadership—especially here in the UAE—I find that rings more true than ever. We live in a time of rapid change, where ideas, trends, and technologies spread faster than ever before. A school in Singapore introduces a mindfulness app, Finland drops homework, a company in Silicon Valley rethinks classrooms—and suddenly, everyone’s watching, adapting, and reacting.

Today, innovation isn’t optional—it’s essential. AI, digital tools, and new ways of thinking are reshaping how we live and learn. As educators and leaders, we must engage with these changes. The world is moving, and we must move with it.

But even as we embrace innovation, it’s worth reminding ourselves: education is about more than just tools and trends.

It’s about people.

It’s about relationships, clarity, consistency, and culture. And sometimes, in our eagerness to push forward, we risk losing sight of the basics that make schools work—simple communication, shared values, and a focus on what really matters for our pupils and staff.

I’ve seen schools thrive not because they chased every new idea, but because they knew what to hold on to. They used innovation wisely, grounded in their own context. They understood that too many layers, policies, and systems can lead to confusion—where no one is quite sure what the priorities are anymore.

We must also resist the temptation of change for the sake of change. That doesn't mean settling into complacency—because even when something is working brilliantly, if it becomes too predictable, it may appear stale. Pupils must be engaged, not just taught. We must get them thinking, speaking, questioning, challenging, and innovating. Education must remain dynamic—to a point. Not chaotic, not directionless—but alive, evolving, and responsive to the needs of our young people and the world they’re stepping into.

So perhaps the mantra, at times, should be: Get back to basics.

Not as a rejection of progress, but as a way to stay balanced. The best leaders, I believe, are those who know when to push forward—and when to pause. Who understand that doing fewer things well often brings more lasting impact than doing everything at once.

Eventually, we all find what works. But if we reflect more, and react less, maybe we can get there sooner—together, and with greater purpose.

As one wise educator once said:

Sensible education is not about choosing between tradition and innovation—it’s about knowing when to honour each.

The Pause

 Where are you coming from? Where are you right now? And where do you want to go?

Three deceptively simple questions. And not the kind we ask during a job interview or while writing a personal statement—but the kind we should ask ourselves, deliberately and often. This is why 'THE PAUSE'  matters.

We live in an age of relentless motion and noise . The average person now spends over 6 hours a day on digital devices, often juggling multiple tasks at once. Teen anxiety rates have surged by 20% in the last decade, and burnout isn’t just a corporate phenomenon anymore—it’s showing up in classrooms, staff rooms, and even playgrounds. Everyone is trying to keep up—with deadlines, expectations, grades, bills, appearances, and the ever-shifting benchmark of “success.”

We usually wake up to alarms , check our phones before our feet hit the ground, hurry the children, hurry to school or work, run through meetings and classes, gulp down coffee, swallow meals, tick off lists—and somewhere in all of that, wonder if we’ve actually lived the day or just survived it.

Even rest feels performative now. Some look at it as time lost or wasted! We scroll endlessly, comparing our lives to curated highlight reels of others. Why aren’t we travelling the world and seeing places ? Why does everyone else seem so accomplished, so happy, so fit , so ahead? Why are we being left behind .

But the truth is—most of us have done far better than we give ourselves credit for. We’ve faced umpteen challenges. We've grown. We’ve overcome illness, loss, personal struggles, setbacks. We’ve shown up, day after day. And if we paused long enough, we might actually see that. The sad truth is - we don't !

I remember sitting in a school auditorium once, at the end of a long and exhausting week. The Annual prize day was round the corner, and we had just finished a rehearsal. The bell had rung, most people had left, and I just sat there, alone for a few minutes. No phone. No rush. Just silence - and I pondered my work and my life . That tiny moment of stillness brought surprising clarity. It’s often in those brief pauses—between classes, between meetings, between life’s big chapters—that the most important thoughts find their way in. For me they still do - I belong to the 5 am club, like many of you, - that's when I get most of my inspiration .

And that’s why taking a pause matters.

Not to escape, but to reconnect - to reflect- to be grateful - to take stock - to see the journey for what it is—not a race, but a series of moments, of choices, of small wins and quiet growth.

So, to everyone reading this: Make space for that very much needed 'PAUSE'

Not just once in a while, but as a regular habit. Step away from the chatter and the incessant noise. Reflect on your journey.

Ask yourself— Where have I come from? Where am I now? Where do I want to go next?

And perhaps more importantly— What truly matters to me now?

Because in the end, it’s not always about how far you go… It’s about knowing why you're going there at all.

The Button box

 The Button Box

There was an old button box at home when I was a boy, a tin that once held chocolates but had long since been repurposed for a more practical, if less glamorous, role. It was about eight inches by six, a bit dented at the corners, and the design on the lid was faded with age – I can’t recall if it once showed a festive scene or perhaps a swirl of flowers. In those days, tins like these had lives long after their original contents were devoured. They became repositories for bits and bobs, a silent witness to a household’s steady rhythm.

Inside this tin lay hundreds of buttons, a true kaleidoscope of shapes and hues. Black and brown seemed to dominate – the practical shades of men’s jackets and trousers – but there were flashes of brighter colours too, a deep maroon here, a sea green there, and the occasional ivory-white disc that must have once fastened the stiff cuff of a starched shirt. There were cloth buttons, round and tightly bound, the kind that might have adorned a smart winter coat; smooth, polished wooden buttons, perhaps cut from some hardy tree long ago; cool metal ones, with a faint patina of rust around the edges; and the more common plastic varieties, lighter, shinier, and far more willing to roll off the bed if you weren’t careful.

On hot, lazy summer afternoons in Allahabad, when the household settled into the stillness of an afternoon siesta, I would tip the contents of this box onto the large antique four-poster bed, its high, carved headboard standing sentinel as I played. I’d sit cross-legged, feeling the faint tickle of the bedspread under my legs, and lose myself in the tumbling, clinking flood of buttons. I arranged them in long, winding trains, then in neat, disciplined rows like armies on parade. Sometimes they became imaginary cities with little round homes and wide, open streets, the larger buttons serving as town squares. At other times, they took the shape of spirals and whorls, carefully laid out patterns that had no purpose beyond my quiet amusement.

I have often wondered where all those buttons came from. I can recall my aunt, seated by the window with her sewing basket, snipping buttons from old, worn-out clothes before consigning them to the rag bin. Perhaps that’s how this collection began – the careful salvaging of still-useful parts from garments past their prime, a small act of thrift in a more frugal era. Clothes back then had a different life cycle – they frayed, tore, and gradually wore out, and their buttons often outlived their threads, popping off unexpectedly and rolling into corners like tiny, round fugitives.

Do people still keep button boxes, I wonder? Today, shirts and coats come with spare buttons neatly sewn onto a hidden seam or tossed into a tiny plastic bag, which inevitably disappears just when needed. It’s a practical approach, but it lacks the romance, the slow accumulation of odd shapes and mismatched colours, each with a hint of mystery about the garment it once held together.

There is something reassuring about the idea of a button box, a small, clinking archive of the past, and perhaps that is why it lingers so clearly in my memory. It was a treasure chest of sorts, a child’s hoard of forgotten pieces, each one a tiny fragment of a life once lived and loved.

Musical nostalgia vs Modern mayhem

 Musical Nostalgia and Modern Mayhem

As a home-taught musician who grew up on the glorious sounds of the 60s, 70s, and 80s, I can’t help but feel that the quality of music has, by and large, taken a bit of a nosedive. I know, every generation has its sound, but bear with me. When I say ‘quality,’ I’m talking about those melodies that linger in the mind, those lyrics that stir the heart, and those rhythms that move the soul.

Some of my fondest memories are of playing in bands in Allahabad – grand dances at the Thornhill Club, the Fort, and the Army clubs, where the music pulsed through every wooden floorboard, echoing in the high ceilings. And then, of course, the big Christmas dances at Clarks Varanasi, where couples swayed to Elvis, Tom Jones, and rock ‘n’ roll pioneers.

Sing-along parties were a staple too – someone would grab a guitar, and before long, everyone would join in, singing classics like "Sweet Caroline", "Imagine", or "Hotel California". These songs still bring a room together today. Notice, they don’t sing rap or the heavily produced humbug of today’s music – these songs just aren’t singable.

Think about the legendary voices of those decades. Johnny Cash with his baritone, or the storytelling mastery of Kris Kristofferson. These are classics that endure because they speak to real life, heartbreak, and hard-won wisdom.

Then came the rock gods – The Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, The Beatles, Queen. Take Led Zeppelin’s "Stairway to Heaven" – a rite of passage for aspiring guitarists. Or Queen’s "Bohemian Rhapsody" – a six-minute operatic masterpiece.

Fast forward to today, and what do we get? Bands with names that sound like something you’d find in a hipster café – "Tame Impala", "Glass Animals", "Lemon Demon", and "Gorillaz". Or rappers with monikers like "Lil Uzi Vert" and "6ix9ine". What happened to names that at least sounded like musicians?

And then there’s the lyrics – the heart and soul of a song. Contrast these two lines:

"Imagine there’s no heaven, it’s easy if you try…" – John Lennon.

Versus…

"I got hot sauce in my bag, swag." – Beyoncé.

Or this one:

"We all live in a yellow submarine, yellow submarine." – The Beatles.

Now compare that to:

"Gucci gang, Gucci gang, Gucci gang..." – Lil Pump. Sing that 28 times !

Today we have a world where music is dominated by synthesizers and auto-tuned vocals. What used to be raw, organic music has been replaced with polished, artificial perfection. Even a mediocre singer can be auto tuned into sounding like a superstar. It’s become so easy that backing tracks are used to fill in what should be real live music.

So, here’s to the greats – the legends who gave us timeless music, powerful lyrics, and unforgettable melodies. May their songs forever echo in our hearts, even as we scroll past the latest inexplicably named viral sensation.

After all, as Bob Dylan once said, "The times, they are a-Changin’" – though I’m not sure he quite meant this.

Teach your children to pray

 Teach Your Children to Pray

Teach your children not to wait until they’re lost,

When life feels heavy, or they count the cost.

Not when their hearts are aching, filled with fear,

Or when the world seems cold and far from near.

In this busy journey, where all are in a race,

When everyone is busy, caught in time’s embrace,

Prayers often are the remedy they need—

They bring soft calm, and quiet hearts to lead.

Don’t wait for sickness, job loss, or despair,

For empty rooms, or moments hard to bear.

God is here now, in every simple day,

In laughter, love, and light that guides their way.

When morning breaks and sunlight warms their face,

When joy and peace are felt in every place,

That’s when to pray, to thank, to speak, to share—

No need for perfect words, just beautiful hearts laid bare.

And when they ask, remind them God knows best,

He hears their needs, and answers and often tests

Sometimes He gives what they have hoped and prayed,

And other times, He blesses in a way

That’s even better than what they could see,

A gift, a plan, a future meant to be.

So teach them not to wait until they’re tired,

Not to save their prayers for days uninspired.

Talk to God now, when joy is in their heart,

For He is near, and never far apart.

He listens, guides, and holds them through each storm,

With love that shapes and keeps their hearts so warm.

In every prayer, both quiet and sincere,

He answers, blesses, and draws them near.

Just smile and say WHAT

 Just smile and say ‘WHAT’!

I was listening to this interview with Mick Jagger last evening —someone asked him how he compared himself and the ‘Rolling Stones to the Beatles’. Now most people would have taken the bait, right? Not Mick. He just said, “They do what they want to do, and we do what we want to do—and that’s it. I don’t compare. We enjoy our music, and I guess they enjoy theirs” End of story. True rocker style answer for sure!

Except, of course, it wasn’t. The interviewer, itching for a headline, pressed on: “But who do you think is better at doing what they want to do?” And Mick, in all his glorious rock-star fashion, just looked at him and said: “What?” That “what” said it all—bemused, uninterested, maybe even a trifle annoyed.

And honestly, I get it. I’ve had it up to here with this obsession the world has with comparing everything—everyone—all the time. Why must there always be a competition? Why is every action, every milestone, every breath measured against someone else’s?

And it starts early. Painfully early. I’ve seen young parents- lovely people—locked in a subtle war over whose toddler walked first, talked first, sat on the potty first, rode a bicycle sooner, or got into some prestigious toddler yoga class. I mean, really? We’re benchmarking babies now. “Oh, my son’s doing phonics at 18 months.” “My daughter recites the periodic table backwards.” Congratulations!

Then they start school and things get worse. “What reading level is your child on?” “Which after-school program is she attending?” “Have you enrolled them in chess, ballet, robotics, advanced coding, and mindfulness?” “Is she on the ‘gifted and talented’ list yet?” And if your child is just… you know… being a child? Exploring, laughing, drawing blue dinosaurs with three heads and two tails- Then you’re clearly not doing enough, and you’re an awful parent.

Parenting today is strange and very different to when I grew up.  Today everyone’s child is in football, piano, and advanced math—at seven. One mum sighs, “She’s bored in class… already doing fractions for fun at home.” Right. Meanwhile, we all nod politely and quietly freak out that our kid still likes crayons and empty boxes to bang on.

It’s exhausting. Not just for the kids—but for all of us.

And we carry this utter nonsense into adulthood, don’t we? We compare houses, jobs, holidays, waistlines, watches, and of course, whose child is performing better in school, football, speech class, or ideally all three—preferably simultaneously. We cloak it all in polite language— “just curious” or “just proud”—but we all know what’s going on.

Even in the working world, this disease of comparison continues. Companies don’t just focus on their mission anymore.” No one seems to ask: ‘what do we want to do?”

Somewhere along the way, we lost the plot. We forgot that it’s okay—more than okay, in fact—to just do your own thing and do it well - To not be in a race - To not stare sideways all the time, constantly checking where others are.

Think about this - Why is it so hard to enjoy what we do, how we do it, without needing to “beat” someone else at it all the time. Frankly, I find it utterly nauseating. And more than that, I find it sad. We’ve robbed ourselves of the joy of simply doing something for its own sake, whether that’s parenting, painting, playing a guitar, or building a business.

So maybe, just maybe, we should all take a leaf out of Mick Jagger’s book. Let them do what they want to do. You do what you want to do. And do the best you can.

And if someone insists on asking, “But who’s better at it?”—just smile and say:

What?