Run your own race

 Run Your Own Race – A Personal Note on Leadership and Life

If you want to run, run alone—at your pace. Look ahead and keep moving.

If no one joins you right away, that’s okay. You’re running for yourself.

Someone might join you after a day, a week, a month—or maybe never. And that’s fine too.

This is your race.

That simple thought has guided me through life.

I’ve never believed in trying to be better than a colleague, a neighbour, a relative, or a friend. I’ve never chased applause or approval. I’ve just tried to do the work, stay grounded, and stick to what I believe in. That’s been my quiet leadership mantra.

It hasn’t always been a cakewalk.

There have been massive roadblocks, painful setbacks, and moments of real doubt.

And yes, I’ve made mistakes—many. But I’ve always stood up again. I've never allowed myself to give up. That never-say-die attitude has been my anchor.

Teaching has always been more than a profession for me—it’s been a calling.

From my first day in 1981 at Boys’ High School in Allahabad to my many years at The Bishop’s School, Pune, and now leading schools in Dubai, the classroom has always felt like home.

I’ve also been fortunate to lead and mentor some amazing teams.

My style has always been simple—no jargon, no drama, no showing off. I trust people. I don’t micromanage. I try to make it easier for others to do their jobs without hovering or interfering. I’ve seen how overcomplication and noise achieve little. Quiet consistency and genuine intent, on the other hand, move mountains.

One thing I’ve learned? Consistency is everything.

Leadership isn't about sudden bursts of brilliance—it’s about showing up, day in and day out, especially when things get tough. It’s not about charisma, it’s about clarity.

And above all, it’s about walking your talk.

I’ve had fun along the way too—especially with the boys at Bishop’s.

The volleyball courts, the TT tables, the badminton matches, debates, elocution contests, and school plays. The banter, the laughter, and the strong sense of mutual respect—those memories live on. No boy ever crossed the line—but the warmth we shared was something special. Many of those boys still write to me today. That bond is priceless.

My early years in Allahabad shaped me deeply. Life was simple, but full of meaning. I didn’t grow up with luxuries, but I grew up with music, friendship, and freedom. I played in a band for years—on the drums, the guitar, and vocals. That joy of music and performance still flows through me. I think it’s what makes my public speaking what it is today—relatable, reflective, humorous, and human.

Whether I’m giving a speech, writing a post, or having a quiet chat—I love connecting with people. I love making them smile, think, reflect, or laugh. People often say I “hold the room.” But the truth is—I just speak from the heart, and I try to say things that matter.

So if you’re leading, or planning to, here’s what I’d share—not as advice, but from experience:

Lead yourself first. Stay grounded. Don’t compare your journey with anyone else’s. Show up every day. Be kind but firm. Trust others. Don’t overcomplicate things. Make space for others to grow. Laugh often. Learn from your mistakes. Be consistent. Speak simply. And most of all—run your own race. Even if no one’s watching, or cheering, or following.

Run it with heart.

That’s the kind of leadership that lasts.

Thanks for reading. If this resonated, leave a thought or a memory below. Always happy to hear from friends, students, colleagues—old and new.

#Leadership #TeachingIsACalling #BishopsPune #AllahabadDays #MusicAndMemories #LeadershipJourney #ConsistencyMatters #TrustAndTeamwork #HumourInLeadership #RunYourOwnRace

Equestrian pusuits

 Have You Ever Ridden a Horse?

Well, I always wanted to—but alas, the opportunity has never quite galloped my way.

To be clear, I’ve been around horses. I often visited the Poonawalla Stud Farm in Pune—an oasis of elegance and snorts. I admired those magnificent animals, studied their posture and gait, fed them hay, and even took grainy photographs on a box camera. I had also been to the races at the Pune Racecourse several times, where I watched with rapt attention as jockeys—tiny, fearless daredevils—galloped across the turf with style—and at full throttle.

All that—the stud farm, the racecourse, the thundering hooves, the cheering crowds—was deeply etched in my head. I could practically feel the wind in my face as I imagined myself galloping astride a powerful steed.

There was just one small problem- I had never actually ridden a horse.

Which, as it turns out, puts me in good company. According to recent surveys, nearly 90% of people worldwide have never ridden a horse

I did, however, ride a pony. Just once. And I do not intend to repeat the experience

Let me start at the beginning.

This was in the early 1980s, when I was a young master at The Bishop’s School, Pune. My colleagues and fellow adventurers were Alan Seymour and Michael Gomes (who would later become my brother-in-law, but that’s another tale). Life was simple, money was tight, and our appetite for adventure was unlimited.

During one break, the three of us set off to Panchgani, a charming hill station in Maharashtra. It’s the sort of place that families still throng to for the cool weather, hot corn on the cob, and endless selfies with the same five scenic spots. After a fun-filled day, we clambered into a rickety state transport bus and made our way to Mahabaleshwar—a hill station that’s part postcard, part strawberry farm, and part open-air carnival.

We roamed around Mapro Gardens, sampled strawberries that tasted like sugar had surrendered, and ended the day at Venna Lake. The lakefront was buzzing—swings, snack stalls, a mini Ferris wheel, and of course, pony rides.

Now, we had a choice: spend our last few rupees on a quiet boat ride… or look cool on a pony ride.Naturally, we chose to look cool.

After a bit of haggling with two shrewd boys who ran the pony business like seasoned CEOs, I paid ₹2 for a 15-minute trot around the lake. I was led to a rather unimpressed grey pony who looked like he’d seen better days.

As I mounted the beast, I saw kids—children!—being led around on their ponies by handlers. A voice in my head scoffed: You’ve been to the races. You’ve seen jockeys in action. You know horses. And so, in a surge of unearned confidence, I asked to go off on my own. The boys looked at me with a mix of amusement and mischief.

“Are you sure?” one of them asked, reins in hand.“Of course,” I said, puffing my chest. “No problem at all.”

Famous last words.

The moment they let go, my pony bolted. Not trotted, not ambled—bolted. As if it had heard the starting pistol and decided that this was the Derby of its life.

Those racecourse memories kicked in. I remembered how jockeys leaned forward, gripped the reins, and bobbed rhythmically in the saddle. I tried the same.

It turns out that galloping gracefully is a skill—and I had none of it.

We zig-zagged past people, narrowly missed a food cart, and headed alarmingly close to the lake. I held on for dear life, my dignity bouncing somewhere behind me. I was about to compose my last words when the pony skidded to a stop.

The two boys came jogging up, grinning widely. Apparently, this was a thing. As soon as a clueless tourist asked to ride solo, they’d give the pony a discreet tail twist—a surefire way to send it sprinting. Instead of 15 minutes, your ride would last 5. You’d be too shaken to complain. They’d pocket the money and move on to the next victim. Genius.

I dismounted, weak-kneed and defeated. A few people laughed. Some clapped in amusement . I paid up and slunk away, the hero of a very short and very bumpy equestrian saga.

My friends, of course, laughed till they wheezed. I made them swear never to repeat the story to anyone.

Naturally, I’m telling all of you now.

I am older and a bit wiser. Above all ,  time heals embarrassment… and turns trauma into terrific storytelling.

Lesson planning in Education

 

Not to brag, but I taught for decades without a colour-coded, three-ring binder of laminated lesson plans. Shocking, I know. No learning objectives framed on the board, no hourly breakdowns, and no "Exit Ticket" printed on pastel paper. And yet- my students learned. Almost all thrived & did brilliantly in exams. Most, thankfully, are still in touch with me! That is one of the biggest rewards a teacher can ask for.

I must confess—I've rarely made lesson plans in my life. A few, perhaps, when I was doing my B.Ed. But I found them time-consuming and, frankly, a distraction from the real work of teaching. For decades, I walked into my classroom knowing exactly what needed to be done. I had prepared well —mentally, emotionally, and intellectually. I taught. My students learned. We interacted, we laughed, we questioned, and we grew. Those students performed well in their exams and have gone on to lead rich, meaningful lives.

No paperwork told me how to do that. No template or matrix predicted that journey.

And yet, something seems to be going drastically wrong in education today. I see brilliant, committed teachers spending more time writing about teaching than teaching. They’re filling out exhaustive lesson plan formats, ticking boxes, aligning outcomes to standards, and writing daily reflections—not because these processes help them, but because they’re required to. Compliance is now mistaken for quality.

Across the world, the pattern is familiar:

• In the UK, teachers spend weeks preparing for inspections, compiling folders of evidence instead of crafting memorable lessons.
• In India, lesson plans must now include learning objectives, differentiated strategies, NEP alignment, Bloom’s taxonomy references—and all in triplicate.
• In the US, alignment to district, state, and federal standards means a single lesson could be buried under an avalanche of paperwork.
• Even in high-performing systems like Finland & Singapore, teachers are beginning to feel the strain of over-regulation.

And yet, India—despite its challenges—has also shown the world what’s possible. The country has achieved nearly universal enrollment in primary education, with over 97% of children aged 6 to 14 now in school - That’s a remarkable feat. But now the focus must shift from access to quality. And quality depends, not on paperwork—but on teachers.

One of my favourite speakers, Sir Ken Robinson, who so eloquently championed Creativity and Humanity in Education, once said: "The role of a teacher is to facilitate learning, not to deliver instruction. And you cannot improve education by standardizing it." He was right.

Now, let’s assume for a moment that formal lesson plans are, in fact, needed. Can they not be simple—just a few key points in a quick, easy-to-use format? One that supports teaching, not slow it down? We must ask: are we planning to teach or are we teaching to plan?

And while we’re asking questions: What’s more important - preparing the lesson or preparing the plan? If the latter takes longer than the former, then we’ve lost sight of what matters most.

It’s time to reclaim the classroom and bring the focus back to where it belongs: the pupils, the preparation, the delivery, the progress and the joy of learning. A well-prepared teacher, with clarity of thought and freedom to teach with heart, is worth far more than a binder full of lesson templates.

Here’s the reality: a well-written plan does not guarantee a well-taught lesson, just as a hastily scribbled note doesn't equate to poor teaching. A great lesson often emerges from the magic of the moment—a child’s question, a teacher’s anecdote, an unexpected discovery. These cannot be captured in a template. Nor should they be.

This is not a rant. It’s a reflection and a plea

We certainly do not need to throw the system out. That would be foolhardy. But we do need a serious rethink. Let's tweak where necessary: is that asking too much ?

• Trust experienced Educators to plan in ways that suit their style.
• Reduce exhaustive and repetitive paperwork, that adds no real value to the teaching-learning process.
• Focus on student outcomes and visible progress, not on format adherence.
• Encourage planning that is purposeful, not performative.

We are not short of passionate educators. What we are short of is time. Time to reflect. Time to connect. Time to prepare meaningfully. Time to teach.

Globally, interest in teaching as a career is declining—UNESCO reports that the world needs 69 million more teachers by 2030 to meet education targets. In countries like the U.S, U.K, France and even India., applications to teacher training programs have dropped sharply, with many citing low pay, high stress, and excessive bureaucracy as key deterrents. That is a dangerous trend and one that governments must address before it's too late

Let me be clear: I don't blame anyone. We're all part and parcel of the system. But for the sake of our pupils and the future of education, this is worth thinking about.

I believe it's the moral responsibility of every thoughtful, responsible educator to speak up—not to criticize, but to reflect, reimagine, and help restore joy, trust, and meaning to the classroom.

The time is now.

 

 

 

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.