Between letting go and holding on

 “Between letting go and holding on” 

Life feels fleeting, moments drift by,

A constant shift that often feel overwhelming.

Yet within this impermanence, beauty blooms—

A gentle reminder to cherish the now

Which will not return

Once it passes 

The present, vast and clear,

Releases me from fear of what’s yet to come,

And eases the weight of what’s left behind.

Through mindfulness, I find simple joys,

Gratitude rising from the ordinary.

The loss of those I love

Carves deep into my heart,

Yet even sorrow teaches me

To hold tightly to connection.

It reminds me to reach, to love,

For life’s fragility is shared by all.

True peace resides in what I hold,

And in the courage to let go

Of what cannot be kept.

In balance, I find freedom—

To live with purpose,

To love with open heart,

And flow with life’s swift, ever-changing course.

"Let yourself be silently drawn

by the strange pull of what you really love.

It will not lead you astray."

Memories of Allahabad

 Today there was a longing - a very sudden urge

deep within me 

To take a walk – a nostalgic walk 

On an avenue, of the Railway quarters 

In my hometown- Allahabad.

Instantly I was transported back home 

And there I was – a young boy again

Revisiting his roots.

Those narrow, enchanting, tree lined avenues 

Predominantly ‘neem’, ‘gulmohar’ and the occasional ‘pepul’

Where I played as a boy.

It was ‘121 Traffic Quarters- third avenue’

The address has a nice ring to it, even now.

The home where I was born and raised.

Those old Railway houses – Colour washed, once a year

 Double- storied, simple square blocks

with gardens at the side, front and back.

Where flowers bloomed & vegetables were grown

 And chickens were often reared.

They laid their eggs in the hedges around the house 

And I went and collected them every morning

A chore I loved – often there were six!

There were dogs too and we had one 

 some aggressive  ones that bit-

 others whose ferocious bark was sufficient to scare you away.

The hedges were low and stunted – if any at all 

Usually bushy and green with the occasional bougainvillea

Chameleons and butterflies aplenty.

Barriers and walls were a rarity back then 

If it was yours – it was mine too

The jamun, plumb and guava trees

tempted all and sundry- we picked and plucked at will. 

We were shouted at occasionally

if caught in the act – but nothing serious or of any consequence 

hence, we did it repeatedly& with impunity. 

I vividly recall 

Vegetable and fruit sellers with their carts

Shouting out the various prices while cutting through 

the narrow lanes. 

 Peanut vendors, ‘Fatty’ - the butcher, the old man with his Ice cream cart,

 ‘Bushy’, the baker, with bread, tasty patties and biscuits 

In his tin box on the carrier of his bicycle – and the bell!

The ‘box man’ with trinkets and other knick-knacks for sale,

 ‘Kallu the kabari’ with his raucous laughter 

Who knew everyone by name- he loved to gossip.

Not to forget ‘Smiler’, the toothy cloth merchant 

With his bag of fancy material for Christmas dresses and shirts. 

These were all regulars I can never forget.

All residents had household helpers who cooked and cleaned 

Everyone was either ‘baba, baby, saheb or mem- saheb’

The older adults were ‘Bara- Saheb and Bara Mem-saheb’

Many stayed in small quarters at the back of the houses

 

 Everyone sat out in winter

Lunch in the shade of the moringa tree was so nice

Although I detested the curry with drumsticks !

 

 Eating peanuts and having tea at four!

It got chilly by five – and the adults went in to freshen up 

For the evening – no TV back then – just chit- chatting!

Visitors dropped in unannounced 

Simple friendly people and oh so many of us kids 

Seemingly more boys than girls whose only ambition in life

Was to play!

The avenues were put to good use

by rickshaws pullers, cyclists, pedestrians 

a few scooterists, motorcyclists and the rare car 

Who took this short cut to the Civil Lines.

We however put it to greater use

  And played cricket, football, kings , seven tiles 

And “gulli danda’’ as well

Oh, those endlessly long, fun filled afternoons

Where, caste, colour, creed or religion 

Had no bearing.

The burning of the ‘holkar’, the playing of ‘Holi’

The Eid and Christmas celebrations 

We enjoyed them all.

The avenue lights came on at dusk

Thinking back now – they were rather dim. 

Many were covered by creepers

 that had crept up the long pole- they dimmed the lights at times

“I spy” rang out from various corners, in the late evening 

And the shrieking and shouting continued till around eight

With us charging around in groups and having a blast

Before one knew it, it was eight or somewhere around that time

When the unwritten rule said- ‘get home’ for dinner.

Uncomplicated pastimes, kindred spirits, simple pleasures, great friendships

“Those were the days my friend”

Leading with purpose

 "Leadership is not about being in charge. It is about taking care of those in your charge." – Simon Sinek.

Over the past two years I have been running a Leadership training course for aspiring GEMS leaders and some very pertinent and thought provoking discussions have taken place .

As leaders, we face challenges every day, from making tough decisions to inspiring teams to reach their potential. 

But beneath the surface, subtle dynamics like the Dilbert Principle, Peter Principle, and Impostor Syndrome often shape our leadership journey in ways we may not fully realize. 

These concepts, though not always familiar to everyone, have a profound impact on how we lead and grow.

The Dilbert Principle humorously suggests that organizations  sometimes promote less competent employees into leadership to limit the damage they might cause elsewhere. While this might sound like a joke, it highlights a real issue: the need to ensure leadership roles are filled by those with vision, empathy, and capability—not just anyone available.

The Peter Principle adds another layer, reminding us that people are often promoted until they reach a role they can’t handle. Think about times when a brilliant individual contributor became a struggling manager. To avoid this trap, we must invest in leadership training and recognize that growth isn’t just about climbing the ladder, it’s about finding the right fit.

Then there’s the probably  lesser understood  Impostor Syndrome-  something many of us have felt at some point or the other . Imposter syndrome stems from self-doubt, perfectionism, fear of failure, or external pressure. 

It causes undue anxiety, stress, low self-esteem, and a persistent fear of being exposed as a fraud, despite evident success, thus  hindering personal growth and professional confidence.

That nagging doubt: “Am I really good enough to be here?” 

It’s a silent struggle, but acknowledging it is the first step. Building self-belief and surrounding ourselves with mentors and supportive teams can make all the difference.

Leadership, at its core, is about self-belief and the courage to bring out the best in others. It’s about embracing vulnerability and recognizing that perfection isn’t the goal—authenticity is.

 A good leader inspires, not by always having the answers but by showing others that they, too, can rise above challenges. 

When we understand and address these principles, we empower ourselves and our teams to grow, thrive, and create a culture of trust, resilience, and shared success.

 Leadership isn’t just a role; it’s a responsibility to foster growth, inspire confidence, and leave a lasting, positive impact.

Confessions of a not so great traveler

 Confessions of a Not-So-Great Traveler

It’s confirmed: I’m a terrible traveler. Okay - let me not be too harsh on my poor self- I am not a very good traveler, and I am too old to change now – so be it! 

 The chaos begins with booking tickets, where I spend far too much time triple checking my passport details, than I do, deciding on other important aspects. One typo, and I’m convinced I’ll be detained at immigration and will probably have to return home. Seat selection? Non-negotiable. I am ready to pay.  As a claustrophobe, the aisle seat is my lifeline; I need the illusion of escape, even if it’s just to stretch my legs.

Then comes the Packing, which is an Olympic sport in our family. I weigh and re-weigh suitcases & bags a dozen times, like my entire trip depends on it (which, frankly, it does). My wife, however, treats packing as a philanthropic mission. “This is for family members, this for the neighbours,” she says.  I fret while calculating how many extra kilos we’ll be charged for. We argue over packing and the weight of our luggage every time we travel, and my blood pressure surely rises – she wins in the end – wives always do. We invariably end up carrying coal to Newcastle and I have never understood why. Once the luggage is weighed for the nth time, I lock it, in fear of more articles being slipped in – invariably that ruse fails, and I am forced to open it to add in a towel, a tissue box, more shoes or whatever else the wife feels we will find nowhere else on this planet. And I won’t even start to mention those miniscule locks and even tinier keys that mysteriously disappear after every trip. 

Ordering a taxi ride to the airport is a gamble. Will the app work “Will the taxi show up on time? Will we show up on time? What about traffic? What if we arrive late and the gate closes just as we are walking up to the counter? By the time we are in the taxi and on the way to the airport I am on edge. I look at my watch often and open my bag to ensure the passports have not gone for a stroll. 

Then come the queues at the ticket counters that snake around endlessly. Here is the fear of getting someone push their trolley on to the back of my heel and maim me before the trip commences – it has happened, so I am always looking over my shoulder and glaring at anyone attempting to crowd me in. 

 At check-in, the airline’s scale inevitably adds an extra kilo, leaving me suspicious of their accuracy—or my math skills. Immigration is always so stressful - will my passport photo match my face? What if it doesn’t. The way the immigration officer looks at me is enough to send me into a panic. Do I resemble a wanted criminal!

In fact, airport staff rarely help my nerves. Even the pettiest among them exude an air of authority, determined to remind me of who’s boss. The questions—"Where are you going? Why? Where do you work?” are delivered by bored individuals at grimy counters, and their monotony makes the entire process feel like an interrogation from a disinterested cop.

Then comes security- the dreaded security! Shoes off, belt off, laptop out, charger out, purse, & watch put into another bag, liquids separated. Inevitably, my bag gets flagged for inspection for the number of keys we carry. Watching a stranger rummage through my knick - knacks socks and snacks never gets less awkward. I have been guilty of leaving my watch and phone at the checking post and having had to return for it, rather sheepishly.  

Flying business class, the first time was a revelation—clean lounge, lovely toilets, sumptuous food, drinks, comfy sofas, legroom in the plane, soft blankets, champagne, proper cutlery and above all no wrestling for armrests! But in economy, it’s a battle for survival. It’s almost a jungle out there! Between cramped seats and over-shared armrests, I’m reminded why I prefer solid ground. Travel broadens the mind, but it also tests my sanity.

 And I always pray that we have a good pilot who won’t drop off to sleep at the controls or lock himself out of the cockpit.  

Once we reach our destination- it’s not over – what about the luggage. I rush to the carousel- are we at the right one – I scan the crowd to try and see a familiar face from the plane – no such luck. I stand there, eyes scanning the endless stream of luggage, my heart skipping a beat with each new bag that goes by. There’s my suitcase—or is it? The bags blur into a chaotic sea of size and colour, all adorned with colourful ribbons, tape, and those little “fragile” stickers. Like everyone else, I lean in closer, hoping for a sign—anything to help me distinguish mine from the rest—but it’s all so confusing. To top it all, I am colour blind. I rush forward, grab a bag, scan the tag, only to realize it’s not mine. Oh, the awkward dance of pretending I didn’t just almost steal someone’s suitcase! And then, the thought creeps in: What if my luggage is lost? That’s happened before, and now the waiting is a jittery, suspense-filled ordeal, each round of the carousel feeling like an eternity.

Finally, I breathe a sigh of relief as I haul our luggage off the carousel and onto a trolley.

 I often get trolleys with a mind of their own- I am pushing in one direction, and the trolley seems to want to go elsewhere. Then comes the exit gate with uniformed, burly men with beady eyes looking for suspicious passengers. At times I have been signaled out to get my luggage scanned. After seeing umpteen “Airport programmes” I worry, – “what if someone has slipped something into my luggage!  My wife says I look guilty for no reason – now that thought plays in my head every time we are at an airport.

And then we are home or in a hotel at last. My mind then starts thinking about the return journey!

 I can’t help it – that’s me!

Are we becoming lazier

 5 am reflections 

Are We Becoming Lazier?

By the looks of it, I am inclined to say, "Yes!" Modern life, wrapped in its metaphorical plush sofas, cushions, comforters, and quilts, has turned existence into a buffet of convenience—and we’re piling our plates high. Between growing waistlines and shrinking step counts, it’s hard to ignore the fact that as a race, we are lazier than ever, and things are getting worse. 

I was born and brought up in Allahabad, a small town, where life was simple, even idyllic. Walking or cycling wasn’t just transportation, it was life itself. Whether it was school, church,  errands, or visiting a friend, my trusty cycle was my trusted companion, and it served me well . 

When I visited Amsterdam some years ago, it was indeed a refreshing eye-opener to see how many people used bicycles as a means of transport. 

 Moving to The Bishop's School in Pune, brought more structure but no gadgets or apps to make life easier. We didn’t Google; we flipped through Encyclopedia Britannica, carefully searching for answers. Learning took effort. I spent hours in the library at weekends preparing for lessons and taking handwritten notes as a means of reference. 

Today, technology does so much of the work for us. Mobile phones are our lifelines—connecting us, helping us navigate, and reminding us of everything from appointments to groceries. Forget your phone at home when you go out and one feels strangely nervous. 

Personal grooming is being  done effortlessly too: hair stylists and beauticians visit us at home, and vans equipped to groom cats and dogs pull up at our doorsteps. Fuel, food, groceries, even laundry—it all arrives at home with a few taps. Robot vacuum cleaners silently keep our homes spotless. You don't even have to walk your dog any longer - there is always someone who will do it for a fee. 

Natural exercise—like walking to the market, seeing to the garden or washing the car—has been replaced by gym memberships. Tasks that once kept us moving are now outsourced. 

Convenience is undeniable, but so is the cost to our health and independence. High blood pressure, cholesterol, obesity, heart diseases and even mental health issues were hardly heard of. 

It makes me wonder: what will life be like 20 years from now?

 Holograms for meetings, drones for deliveries, AI to think for us, will we lose the joy of doing things ourselves?

 Perhaps it’s time to step back, reflect, and find balance before the art of living actively fades entirely.

The Selfie craze

 "No malice toward anyone, past or present." 

In pure jest. 

This is certainly not a tirade against Selfie takers – I have taken a few selfies myself and quite enjoyed doing so – do it now and then and you are fine  However, there should  be a self imposed  limit for every craze-  let it not become an obsession .

Do   you find yourself taking a selfie for every occasion—whether it's a casual day at home, a night out, or even a random moment of relaxation. Maybe your phone is bursting with dozens of selfie variations, each one with different angles, filters, and expressions. You might even travel just for the perfect selfie spot, seeking out picturesque locations for your next photo op. Perhaps, more tellingly, you spend a great deal of time adjusting your hair, lighting, and posing to perfect your selfie than enjoying the moment.

 If you can relate to any of these signs, then there’s no denying it—you surely are a selfie addict- or in the process of  becoming one  beware! 

What is it with this enduring craze called selfies?

 Are we so lonely that we can’t find a neighbor, spouse, friend, or a passerby to click for us? Must we plaster social media with photos of us devouring a samosa, awkwardly perched in a car, or standing solo with the sea behind us? Honestly, who is clamoring to see these moments?

Then, there are the daredevils who risk life and limb for that epic selfie atop cliffs, skyscrapers, or while dangling precariously over crocodile pits. Social media is full of them .  Is fame worth the paramedics shaking their heads at your folly?

Like it or lump it - the selfie has become an inescapable part of modern life, as unavoidable as Wi-Fi signals or the jingles of an ice cream truck on a summer day. Whether you’re in the middle of a bustling city square, praying in a cathedral, or trekking up a remote mountain trail, someone is bound to be striking a pose with a camera aimed at their own face. It’s as if the world itself has become one giant photo booth, with every moment treated as an opportunity to curate an online persona and become an influencer.

And let’s face it—some of these selfie antics are downright absurd. Who decided that squatting by a roadside trash can or posing next to a half-eaten burger was photo-worthy? Is capturing yourself mid-yawn, pretending to hold up the Leaning Tower of Pisa or holding the moon in the palm of your hand, the pinnacle of human achievement?  

It gets better (or worse): some even add dramatic captions like “Living my best life!” under a photo of themselves sitting on a hospital bed or “Unstoppable” while holding a soggy umbrella and getting soaked in the rain 

 What about "Can’t stop, won’t stop” while pretending to jump off a cliff!  

Give the world a break – please! 

And let’s remember: If you’re happy and you know it, enjoy the moment—not every joy needs to be immortalized.

 Instead of obsessing over perfect angles, filters, or hashtags, why not just live in the moment? 

Savor the laughter, the breeze, and the fleeting beauty of the present. Some of life’s best memories aren’t filtered or captioned—they're simply felt, lived, and cherished in the now. 

No camera needed.

Kallu kabari

 Some of you Allahabadis may remember a ' kabari walla' named Kallu way back in the day.

I was a young school boy and Kallu was a regular in a number of houses( in the railway quarters and Christian - Anglo Indian houses ) all over Allahabad. 

Every Sunday he would do his rounds on his rusty weatherbeaten bicycle. 

He was friendly , talked loud and had a louder laugh. 

He was a nice chap, around 40 years old, and because he had been around for years, no one minded him coming and squatting in the first room. 

It didn't matter whether you had papers, bottles or anything else to sell. He was the opposite of a good salesman ! A great purchaser.

His eyes would dart around the room and he would offer some silly sum of money for any item that caught his fancy- whether you were selling it or not!

This irritated me for obvious reasons.

He once offered to buy my cycle for 25 rupees! Then kept increasing it till his top offer was 50. We were not even intending to sell it.

As if by miracle he would land up at houses when people were doing spring cleaning or white washing.

That's when everything would be put into the front compound and he would be there trying to pick up a bargain.

To give the devil his due, he often bought stuff which would otherwise be thrown in the bin. However that was a ruse to get the buying going. 

Once he got you in the selling frame of mind he almost hypnotised people into selling more stuff.

He was persuasive, determined and cunning and patient . He would spend hours bargaining and after hours in one house he would go and bring a cycle rickshaw and load up his loot!.

I would often tell him in the best Hindi that I could muster that he must be happy for crooking us. He would reply in his broken English ' Michael baba I go loss, this all rubbish useless stuff'

Then with a crooked smile he would tell the rickshaw man to start moving.

With a big Salam he would cycle off - another day of profit.

Allahabad had its strange yet well known hawkers and buyers!

Am sure other cities had similar characters as well.