The quiet power of respect

 

The Quiet Power of Respect: Leadership in Everyday Life

"Consideration for others is earned, not demanded."

Growing up in Allahabad, I learned early that genuine regard for others comes from actions, not status. My mother treated everyone — the postman, vegetable seller, neighbours, and the Ayah, milkman, dhobi, and rickshaw man — with the same warmth and dignity. Valuing others’ worth was a principle she lived daily, shaping both personal behaviour and the wider fabric of society.

Years later, in the UAE, her lessons came alive. I went to complete paperwork in an office late one evening. A local gentleman — the manager — stayed back to assist me. Polished yet genuine, patient yet unassuming, he calmly explained every detail. When it was done, he simply said, “I’m glad I could help.” That small gesture revealed a vital truth: empathy and courtesy are at the heart of character.

Leadership depends on treating people with dignity. Leaders who acknowledge the ideas, time, and individuality of every team member foster environments where people feel valued and motivated to excel. The most admired leaders invite dialogue, listen more than they speak, and see disagreement as an opportunity to learn.

"Give everyone a voice and act with empathy."

Civility matters in everyday life. In meetings, on calls, in queues, while driving, at the supermarket, or at home, patience and courtesy are essential. Cutting in line, speaking over colleagues, or dismissing opinions may seem small, but these actions erode trust. Granting others a voice, approaching them with understanding, and avoiding arrogance are simple ways to practice consideration. Even small acts, like being punctual and not keeping others waiting, demonstrate genuine regard for others.

Yet basic civility is increasingly overlooked. Society revolves around “I, me, and myself,” with entitlement replacing empathy. Road rage, supermarket impatience, shouting over colleagues, or assuming you are always “right” are all too common. Disregard for others is visible even among world leaders, broadcast for all to see. Sarcasm, caustic remarks, and shutting others down are becoming the norm. If those in power behave this way, what example are we setting for future generations?

"Good examples at home and school nurture empathy and responsibility."

Children guided to treat siblings, elders, and helpers with courtesy develop integrity and self-discipline. Balancing confidence with civility nurtures adults capable of humility, leadership, and genuine connection. Parents and educators must insist on decency — firm guidance, coupled with care, is not harsh; it is essential.

"Empathy costs nothing, yet its absence can unravel relationships."

Character is not measured by power or position. It is reflected in the dignity, empathy, and fairness we extend — at work, at home, and in daily life. Small, consistent acts of kindness strengthen relationships, build communities, and shape the leaders of tomorrow. They are the quiet force that can restore civility, humility, and humanity in a world increasingly focused on self.

"Leadership is shown by the dignity you give, not power you hold."

Racing Through Life

 

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Racing Through Life, Missing the Moments

I often find myself reflecting on whether we—adults and children alike—truly have the chance to enjoy life amidst schedules, screens, and endless deadlines. Life is not a 100-metre dash, and not everyone was born to shatter records or hoard accolades. While ambition and achievement matter, our obsession with success risks sprinting past the very life we are meant to inhabit.

A slow weekend morning feels almost subversive: tea steaming gently in a cup, newspapers scattered across the garden table, dew shimmering on the grass, and my cat stretching languidly in the sun, yawning with an air of complete entitlement. Today, I felt an irresistible urge to play my guitar—and I did—allowing the familiar, vibrant chords to resonate through the quiet and remind me that I still have the touch. As the music lingered, I thought of George Harrison’s words with The Beatles: "Here comes the sun, and I say, it’s all right," and I leaned back, letting time expand, unhurried, for once.

Life wasn’t always this frantic. Back then, time moved at a gentler pace: growing up in Allahabad, afternoons drifted at the speed of a ceiling fan—deliberate, measured, generous. Later, as a young teacher in Pune, evenings stretched into billiards games, idle chatter, and long-playing Beatles records, which we listened to from start to finish, without shuffle, skipping, or algorithms dictating the next track. Life contained pauses, silences, and the spaces between the notes, a luxury almost unimaginable today.

Now, everyone is perpetually in motion, rushing from one back-to-back meeting to the next, swallowing fast food in a single gulp, inhaling, devouring, wolfing it down like a competitive sport, while creases are etched across brows and bags swell beneath eyes that seldom see sunlight—all courtesy of our modern holy trinity: laptop, TV, phone. Pills are popped to offset ever-depleted energy, and umpteen cups of caffeinated drinks keep vitality dripping like IVs in hospitals. Even words are shortened to acronyms and emoji—but what are we doing with the time saved? Ask around: almost everyone is perpetually exhausted, stress has become a byword, and if you’re successful, you’re stressed. Something doesn’t click, and I don’t think I’m wrong.

Driving has ceased to be travel; it has become a high-stakes endurance event, horns blaring like war drums, airports transformed into conveyor belts of fatigue, and trains and planes hurtling along while passengers hurtle through inboxes, social media, and urgent group chats. The world itself has become a maelstrom of motion, frenzy, and minor panic; at this rate, I am left pondering the future—will our children one day commute via teleportation pods while simultaneously attending five meetings in zero gravity?

And, as if to taunt us, scientists say the Earth is literally spinning faster on its axis than before, shaving milliseconds off our days, perhaps explaining our obsession with “instant”: instant coffee, instant noodles, instant downloads, instant messaging, instant everything—except, ironically, instant serenity.

And while I sit—the old man I am—and ruminate, there are those already partly exhausted, partly disillusioned, who have accomplished! (Yes, joke intended.) Somewhere along the way, life became a checklist, and we forgot that joy cannot be ticked off.

Perfection has other dimensions. It is not only quantified by achievements, grades, or Instagram-worthy lives; it resides in laughter that leaves your ribs aching, lying back to watch cloud-animals drift across the sky, or listening to a child invent a game that makes perfect sense to them—these are the trophies that endure.

Don’t mistake me: I am not suggesting we abandon effort, discipline, or ambition—these are essential to growth and achievement. But as an educator, I see too often that ceaseless activity and a relentless chase for perfection do not equal learning, fulfillment, or true success. Excellence is measured not only by accomplishments, but by balance, presence, and the ability to savor life along the way.

Perhaps time hasn’t actually shortened; it is our relationship with it that has changed. Once, we lived life like an LP record: patient, deliberate, each song flowing seamlessly into the next. Now we live on shuffle, always clicking “next,” never hearing the tune through.

Here’s the truth: nobody remembers the “greatest person alive,” mainly because there never was one; what endures are the moments we gave, the time we shared, the laughter we sparked, the stillness we allowed ourselves to inhabit.

So stop sprinting. Step back. Slow down, and let life be measured not by checklists, screens, or accolades but by presence, by the ordinary joys we too often overlook; for if we do not recalibrate, we risk raising a generation that knows only frenzy, never pause, never the music between the notes, and then, one day, we may look around and realize that in our race for perfection, we have forgotten how to live

Reflections of a Shakespeare Amateur

 “Learning my lines, cracking my joints, and still stealing a laugh or two.”

Reflections of a Shakespearean Amateur: Still Learning, Still Laughing

It was 5 a.m., my early-morning cuppa in hand, pondering life, the universe, and the curious case of vanishing socks — profound questions, all of them. Outside, the world was still asleep, giving me a rare audience of one: me, my thoughts, and the slightly judgmental cat silently assessing my wisdom. Two timid tabbies mewed meekly outside, politely pleading for their morning snack, reminding me that even at 5 a.m., life has its small but persistent demands.

I’ve reached that wonderful age Shakespeare so memorably described in As You Like It as “the lean and slippered pantaloon, with spectacles on nose and pouch on side.” The Bard knew exactly what he was talking about — a stage of life rich in experience, occasionally creaky in the joints, and gloriously free of pretense. Just in case you’re wondering, yes — I’m still alert, decisive, and fully in command of my faculties. Muscles occasionally twinge, joints click and pop, but I take it in stride — proof that years add character, not limitations, and that even the most stubborn knees can occasionally offer a soliloquy of their own. I must admit, I’m a bit of a brat — I even Googled my name the other day and was pleasantly surprised at what I found! Apparently, I’m a teeny-weeny bit known, which I decided to enjoy without taking it too seriously.

Home is where life’s lessons hit hardest and funniest — and I’m happily outnumbered by the women in my life. Wife, daughters, granddaughters, even the cats — all demanding my attention in the best possible way. My two granddaughters think I’m hilarious — which, frankly, is the fan club I’ve always wanted. They laugh at my jokes with such conviction that I sometimes suspect they’d give me a standing ovation just for sneezing in rhythm. Between them and the rest of the household, I’ve learned humility, patience, and the art of surviving polite but relentless interrogation.

At work, the scene is much the same: teachers, principals, leadership teams — a dynamic, predominantly female environment that keeps me engaged, alert, and constantly learning. Leading six of the UAE’s largest schools sharpens the mind like nothing else, and the teaching profession has a unique way of keeping you young, no matter how many candles are on your cake. I laugh, I make others laugh, and I enjoy it — with clarity, intelligence, and perspective.

I’ve earned my applause, and it’s still very much there on a regular basis — but I take it with a smile, not as a measure of my worth. Over the years, I’ve commanded stages, delivered keynotes and TED Talks, and led leadership training sessions in many settings. I am passionate about writing for newspapers and my blog, and while I’m no social-media influencer, my presence online keeps me connected, curious, and fully engaged.

Running into former pupils worldwide, seeing their respect, intelligence, and achievements, reminds me that I must have done something of worth in the classroom over the years — and it fills me with genuine pride.

I’ve been in the spotlight in many forms — as a musician, a headmaster in Pune, a school principal, and now as the leader of six of the UAE’s largest schools. I still work hard, I still dress sharp, and I still laugh loud — often at myself. Life is enjoyable because I choose it to be; I believe it’s worth living, and that belief shapes the way I show up every day. I enjoy surprising people — including myself — and I’m grateful for the mix of work, family, humour, and reflection that keeps me fully engaged.

The younger me chased the world’s applause; the older me just wants to keep learning, laughing, and making the most of every curious, joyful, unpredictable twist life throws my way!

Please stop confusing us dear ladies

 Dear Ladies, Stop Confusing Us Gentlemen…We’re Trying!

From shoes to colours, sizes to cushions—how men survive the chaos.

Before I begin, let me say this: I love and admire the women in my life—my wife, my daughters, and all the incredible women around me. This is written in affectionate humour, celebrating your style, flair, and unmatched attention to detail. We were never in the picture because we can never match up ! 

Ladies, do you really have to make shoes, clothes, and colours so impossibly complicated—while laughing at us poor men?

Shoes, for instance. Men have three types: black, brown, and a pair or two of sneakers. Simple. Straightforward. Women? One might say, “I need nude kitten heels with a block heel, slingback strap, and faux suede.” To men, that sounds less like shoes and more like a puzzle.

Stilettos, wedges, platforms, kitten heels, pumps, peep-toes,  loafers, ballerinas, espadrilles, Mary Janes, gladiators, clogs, ankle boots, thigh-high boots, cowboy boots, combat boots, sneakers, trainers, mules, slides, flip-flops, sandals,  ballet flats, oxford shoes, moccasins, brogues, Chelsea boots, over-the-knee boots, court shoes, T-strap heels, chunky heels, wedge sneakers, wedges… if it can be worn—or fallen off—there’s a name for it.

And just when you think you’ve caught up, a new style appears. Like an invention no one saw coming.

Clothes are no easier. Men have shirts, trousers, shorts, a few suits, T-shirts, track pants—in boring colours like blue, grey, black, or white. Done. They hardly try clothes; maybe shoes if they’re in the mood. Women? Encyclopedia Britannica.

Blouses, camisoles, tunics, halter-necks, crop tops, tube tops, wrap tops, cardigans, shrugs, ponchos, capes.

Skirts: A-line, pencil, skater, mini, midi, maxi, pleated, tiered.

Trousers: leggings, jeggings, treggings, palazzos, chinos, capris.

Dresses: wrap, shift, sheath, bodycon, gown, sundress.

Outerwear: trench coat, duster, pea coat.

It’s a fashion dictionary… and a vocabulary test all at once.

Sizes add another layer of complexity. Men? Ask for medium, large, 40, or 42—try it, done. Women? Irrespective of build, they always go for the smaller size. Twist, squeeze, hold your breath—and proudly declare, “See? Size 8!” Meanwhile, the zip is begging for mercy.

Makeup and skincare are another universe. Men? Aftershave, deodorant, out the door in five seconds.

Women? Morning and night, it’s a ritual: foundation, concealer, powder, blush, highlighter, mascara, eyeliner, eyebrow pencil, lipstick, lip balm, setting spray… plus night creams, serums, masks, toners, moisturizers, exfoliators.

Mud face masks are particularly terrifying. They can transform a perfectly normal human into a creature from a horror film. Apply, wait, rinse, repeat. Like running a small chemistry lab on the face.

Soaps tell their own story. Men? One bar, one type, works for everything.

Women? Exfoliating, moisturizing, whitening, brightening, scented, unscented, glycerin, herbal, charcoal, honey, rose… each with a purpose, each with a shelf of its own.

Colours are the ultimate battlefield. Men: blue, grey, white, black—occasional pinstripes if feeling adventurous.

Women: teal, turquoise, aquamarine, sapphire, blush, rose, fuchsia, salmon, magenta, flamingo, champagne, ivory, cream, oyster, beige, nude, emerald, mint, sage, moss, olive… and the ever-tricky seafoam mist. Men call it green. Women know better.

And my daughters? Both are precise about design, colours, and room arrangements—every detail must be just so. Watching them organize their spaces is like observing tiny decorators at work: stylish, uncompromising, effortlessly beautiful. It’s easy to see where they get it from.

Everyday life becomes a comedy show. Decorating a room feels like a diplomatic mission. Asked, “Ivory or oyster?” Men nod, “Yes.”

Shown two cushions: “Which matches better?” Both beige, of course. But apparently, one is mushroom—and that is a matter of national importance. Other couples argue over shoes. Some over colours. Men? One cushion, done. Women? Teal or turquoise? The debate is endless.

Yet for all the quirks, obsessions, and rituals, life would be unimaginably boring without women. Their style, their colour, their sparkle, their humour—these make the world vibrant and unpredictable.

We love women—for their strength, charm, humour, and the way they make life infinitely richer every single day.

Men—are we stupid or just really, really dumb? Probably both.

But without women, we’d be wandering around clueless, wearing mismatched socks, and calling beige “grey.” And somehow, we still love it.

Family First

 

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Family First: Reclaiming Childhood in a Digital World

Raising children who feel, play, and love in a world of distractions.

Children today have hundreds of digital “friends,” yet many sit alone in their rooms. Screens promise connection, but what they deliver is isolation—and childhood is quietly slipping away. Families gather at the same table but live in different worlds—each member bent over a device, together yet alone.

Not long ago, childhood was about running barefoot, scraped knees, and laughter echoing in real rooms. Streets and fields brimmed with children spilling out of homes, free and unshackled. Afternoons glowed golden, dust rising beneath our racing feet, mingling with the scent of pakoras and the fragrance after rain.

We played cricket with rubber balls, wickets made of sticks, hearts racing in hide-and-seek behind banyan trees. We shouted, fought, and reconciled within minutes. Kites climbed into the sky, tails fluttering; marbles clicked in the dust, and every game taught patience, compromise, and belonging.

Evenings belonged to family: stories shared, laughter echoing across verandahs, presence uninterrupted by devices. Loneliness felt impossible.

How different childhood feels today. Many children sit alone—headphones on, faces lit by glowing pixels, companionship reduced to digital echoes. Conflicts are patched with emojis, victories celebrated with stickers, secrets whispered into the void. Their bodies move less, lungs burn less from running, and friendships unfold in artificial spaces that lack warmth and presence.

“More voices, more faces—yet less true connection.”

The dangers run deeper for the youngest. Studies reveal a sharp rise in anxiety, depression, and feelings of inadequacy among children tethered to devices. Every filtered image whispers that they are not enough. One careless comment can cut like a blade; one post can unravel a child’s confidence. Surrounded by hundreds of digital “friends,” too many feel unseen and unloved.

Our ancestors may have lived slower, narrower lives, but they were rarely as lonely—or anxious—as children today. Devices magnify comparisons, amplify insecurities, and replace real friendships with fleeting likes.

Schools, of course, require children to use technology at home for research and assignments. Used wisely, it is a powerful tool for learning. But the danger is when it replaces family time, play, and conversation. Children do not need more apps—they need time to play, share meals where laughter spills across the table, and experience presence that cannot be downloaded.

“They need parents who look them in the eye, not at a screen.”

They need to fall, fight, and forgive in real games; to run until their lungs ache; to know the strength of a hug and the reassurance of a hand held tightly.

There is hope. We can still raise a generation that laughs loudly, feels deeply, and loves fully. Let children chase marbles in the dust, send kites soaring into tangled branches, run until joy echoes down the street. Let families reclaim the dinner table, talk face-to-face, share freely, and truly be present for one another.

The call is simple yet urgent: family first, always.

Wise leadership cuts through the clutter

 

Cutting Through the Clutter: How Wise Leaders Lead
Lessons in clarity, simplicity, and discernment from decades of experience in education and leadership.

In a world crowded with jargon, endless slides, and competing voices, true leadership stands out by being quiet, simple, and deliberate.

When I was growing up, life was simpler, and people were easier to read—a smile meant what it said, a frown meant what it felt. I often think of my mother, who is no longer with us, and the quiet lessons she gave me. She had a way of seeing people clearly, understanding hearts without a word, and showing love and patience in even the smallest actions. Those lessons—her calmness, honesty, and kindness—have stayed with me, shaping how I connect with others, even in complex professional settings.

As Lao Tzu said, "Simplicity, patience, compassion. These three are your greatest treasures."

Today, life—and meetings—can feel very different. Interactions are layered, cautious, and often more about impression than clarity. I often wonder: how can we make conversations meaningful? How can we ensure time together fosters understanding rather than confusion, and progress rather than noise? These questions have guided my work in education and leadership for decades.

“Clarity and simplicity matter more than eloquence aimed at confusion.”

In leading schools and teams, patterns repeat themselves. Some dominate discussions, some present information that is hard to digest, and some rely on language that confuses more than it clarifies. I remember one meeting where a single slide had multiple charts and graphs crammed into it—I had to squint and nudge a colleague to make sense of it. By the end, most of the audience was lost. Sometimes I catch myself thinking: how often do we, even with the best intentions, make communication harder than it needs to be?

Then there is jargon. Phrases like “leverage synergies for scalable outcomes,” “drill down into core competencies,” or “drive actionable insights through data-driven paradigms” sound impressive but rarely clarify anything. How many people leave meetings enlightened, and how many leave wondering what happened? These moments remind us that not every point requires a response, and not every argument is worth pursuing. Great leadership is about discernment—knowing when to engage, when to step back, and when to focus energy on what truly matters.

Dealing with adults, just as with children, requires differentiation. Some thrive on detail; others need clarity. Leaders must create spaces where everyone can contribute. Meetings and discussions can be opportunities for collaboration—but only if we structure them with purpose, listen actively, and communicate clearly.

Over the years, I’ve learned that restraint often trumps argument. Sometimes the wisest action is to pause, reflect, and redirect energy toward solutions. Folding your arms, smiling politely, and focusing on what matters is often the path to influence and respect.

Keeping communication simple, honest, and respectful benefits everyone. Clarity fosters trust; brevity fosters understanding; patience fosters collaboration. Each interaction, no matter how small, is an opportunity to lead with purpose.

Reflecting on these experiences is not about blame—it’s about growth. We must constantly ask: how can we communicate more clearly? How can we create meaningful spaces for dialogue? How can we lead with patience, clarity, and empathy?

As Peter Drucker wisely said, "Effective leadership is defined by results, clarity, and the ability to make people think."

“Great leadership is about the spaces you create for understanding and growth.”

After all these years, seeing teams and students navigate challenges, it is clear that wise leaders know this approach leaves a lasting impact on their communities.

 

Leadership is not about titles—it’s about showing your value and creating other leaders

 Leadership is not about titles—it’s about showing your value and creating other leaders.

Have you ever been thrown into a situation so overwhelming that you had no choice but to rise—or sink? No one is ever fully ready for leadership, but the moment you act, adapt, and show your worth is when your real strength emerges.

In my forty-five years in education, I’ve seen almost everything—challenging leaders, petty rivalries, jealousy, backstabbing, and sweet smiles hiding devious hearts. I’ve also seen resilience, dedication, and extraordinary professionalism. I’ve learned to see the funny side of things, which keeps me grounded and reminds me not to take myself too seriously.

I had everything going for me in Pune—experience, qualifications, a proven track record—yet things didn’t fall into place. It would have been easy to give up. Instead, I took a leap of faith and moved to the UAE to join GEMS. That decision changed everything. I became Principal of an exceptional school, and today I serve as Executive Vice President, overseeing some of the largest Indian schools in the GEMS network. I work alongside talented, committed professionals. And no matter the role, I will always be a teacher at heart—teaching is an extraordinary profession.

There will always be challenges—roadblocks, frustrating moments, seemingly insurmountable problems, and never enough hours in the day. It’s no use whining—learn to make things happen. Adapt, keep learning, and let others see what you are good at. Don’t hide your talents under a bushel. Look the part. Walk the part. Talk the part. Step up when opportunities arise—they rarely knock twice. True strength comes from being self-made. Show courage, determination, and relentless passion.

Leadership is about respect, empathy, and transparency. I treat everyone—from the senior-most colleague to the watchman—with equal respect. I believe in fair play, without favoritism, and in giving people a chance to shine on merit. A true leader creates other leaders. I’m proud that over a dozen staff who worked under me as Principal have become Principals themselves. Seeing them thrive is deeply rewarding.

Yet I am far from perfect, and I am learning every day. You’d be amazed at how much you can learn simply by observing those around you—their strengths, mistakes, and small habits that make them effective. Reflect, laugh, and grow along the way.

The time to act is now. Don’t wait. Don’t hesitate. Step up, lead, and make your mark. Show your value, embrace the challenge, and leave a legacy that will last far beyond yourself.