EVERYONE HAS A STORY
Moments That Mattered, Echoes You Didn’t Hear

Life writes its stories in the moments we least expect—in the twists, the falls, the quiet turns that shape who we are, leaving imprints that are nearly invisible at first, only revealing themselves when we pause, when we look back.

As 2025 winds down, take a moment and ask yourself—did this year lift you to dizzying highs, drag you through unseen lows, or drift quietly, leaving subtle echoes behind? Was it harsh, gentle, or somewhere in between?

Pause-  Reflect - Wonder.

Take a few moments to recall the laughter that buoyed you, the challenges that weighed you down, the love that filled your heart ,  the victories that passed unnoticed, and the tears no one saw, for every life carries peaks and valleys, hidden struggles, fleeting triumphs—and every story matters.

For me, this year has been quietly hopeful, filled with small victories, fleeting joys, a deeper sense of fulfillment in work, richer connections with loved ones, and vivid reminders of God’s presence, guiding me through light and shadow, and filling each moment with quiet gratitude.

Isn’t that the story of most of us—different paths, yet the same journey: fragile, fleeting, miraculous, a passage of joys, lessons, and quiet revelations?

Life traces its graph—peaks of joy that spark like sunlight on water, stretches of calm that hum beneath the surface, sudden plunges, moments when hope seems almost invisible—and yet, just when the world feels overbearing , tight and confining, we turn a corner and life surprises us.

Some journeyed the bustling highways, others wandered the quiet roads less traveled; some walked with the influential, others with the humble- and yes, some of us navigated it all like rush-hour traffic—unexpected jams, sudden detours, and the occasional “how did I even get here?”

Every step, every encounter wove its thread into the story of our year, and even the darkest valleys carried the seeds of new beginnings.

Some were broken, some reborn -  Some bore losses too heavy for words, while others were struck by fortune, sudden and brilliant as lightning. Weddings opened doors, deaths closed worlds, new life arrived—tiny, miraculous—reminding us that hope endures. Friendships were forged in laughter and struggle, love blossomed in quiet corners, and life, in its subtle arithmetic, added, subtracted, multiplied, and divided—leaving imprints we may only recognize later. Yet through it all, many carried on—bravely, quietly, unseen—because life demands it.

Life is remarkable, full of small miracles and countless reasons for gratitude, though it could always be harder. And yet, we often rush past the blessings we already hold, restless for more, forgetting to marvel at the extraordinary gift of simply being alive.

In these final days, the year’s imprint is visible in everyone we meet. Families gather, friends reach out, communities carry both joy and grief. Some feel the absence of those who have left, while others celebrate beginnings that transform lives. Behind every gaze is a hidden story, a life etched with beauty and pain, resilience and wonder—a story we will never wholly know.

If you notice carefully- there is a quiet, unhurried rhythm in the turning of the year. The past hums softly, the future glows faintly, the present grows tender, ready for reflection. It reminds us to look at one another with deeper compassion, to see the storms no one speaks of, the triumphs left uncelebrated. Empathy, understanding, quiet connection—these are among the most profound gifts we can give and receive.

As this year folds into memory and another rises on the horizon, may we carry gentleness, patience, and room for the untold stories around us.

 

Resilience, Gratitude, and the Journey Forward

 Resilience, Gratitude, and the Journey Forward

Opportunities don’t just come to you—you have to make them happen. Every challenge can teach you something, every choice is a step toward your goals, and the people you meet along the way can leave a mark on how you think and act.

I was born and educated in Allahabad, where I also had my first job. Starting young, full of energy and eagerness, meant I made mistakes—but each one taught me something. Those early lessons in discipline, focus, and perseverance became the foundation for everything that followed.

Later, I moved to Pune, a transformative chapter that shaped both my professional and personal growth. It wasn’t always smooth sailing, and the waves were often choppy, but each challenge taught me to adapt, keep moving, and make the most of every opportunity. Six years into my time there, I stepped into a leadership role for the first time. Suddenly, I was guiding colleagues who had almost as much professional experience as I had life. That period tested my ability to earn respect, make decisions, and grow as a leader, teaching me resilience, humility, and how to lead effectively. It was a clear reminder that leadership is not about age or tenure—it’s about insight, integrity, and the willingness to learn alongside your team.

For almost 25 years, I’ve been in the UAE, a land brimming with both opportunities and challenges. Every single day requires focus, strategy, and deliberate action. It demands knowing your priorities, making choices that translate ideas into tangible results, seizing every opportunity to learn, and constantly keeping the bigger picture in view while navigating the fast-paced, dynamic environment around you.

Family and loved ones provide grounding. Their support offers perspective, stability, and a reminder of what truly matters—beyond titles, milestones, or achievements.

I’ve also learned to read people and situations carefully. Not everyone who smiles is your ally, and not every serious expression signals opposition. Sometimes the smartest move is to stay silent, observe, and choose your battles wisely. Being proactive rather than reactive allows us to stay focused and in control as we navigate life’s journey.

Gratitude has become a guiding principle in my life. It reminds me to notice the support I receive, act on it, and extend it to others whenever possible. Small acts of guidance or kindness ripple farther than we imagine, giving every effort greater meaning and every success deeper significance.

No one achieves success alone. Every milestone rests on countless unseen contributions. True growth isn’t just about what we accomplish for ourselves—it’s about the difference we make for others. Embrace the journey fully: take responsibility for your path, pursue your goals with courage and clarity, work smart, act decisively, and lift those around you.

Every challenge you face is an opportunity to grow stronger. Every decision, no matter how small, can move you closer to your dreams. Every act of kindness, guidance, or support can ripple far beyond what you imagine.

So move forward with purpose, resilience, and gratitude. Celebrate your achievements, learn from your setbacks, and never stop striving to make a meaningful impact. That is how we grow, thrive, and leave a lasting mark—not just on our own lives, but on the world around us.

Here’s to courage, focus, and the relentless pursuit of growth—in this year, and every year to come.

Winter holidays in Allahabad

 Frost, Festivities, and Family: Allahabad’s Magical Winters

As a schoolboy growing up in Allahabad, the winter holidays were pure magic. Around Christmas, North India was usually in the grip of a cold wave—foggy mornings, drizzle that made clothes cling stubbornly, and icy winds that made every fire, every steaming cup of chai, and every warm kitchen feel like a small miracle. Life in the Railway Colony slowed down, shifting to the rhythm of anticipation. Schoolbooks were temporarily forgotten, streets became playgrounds, and every corner hummed with excitement for Christmas. Everyone walked around in layers—thermals, cardigans, coats, scarves wound like tourniquets, and the legendary monkey cap perched like a crown. We didn’t bother with matching gloves—any pair that kept our hands warm would do.

The streets were alive with bonfires. Groups huddled around them, warming hands, gossiping, and complaining about the cold as if it were a personal enemy. Tea stalls overflowed with crowds slurping steaming hot chai, while at home in the colony, tea and pakoras, sweets, and salted meat were practically mandatory. Hot food never tasted better—winter made even the simplest fry-up divine.

Music blared from houses—carols, Bollywood hits, pop songs you couldn’t name—and nobody cared about volume or harmony. Friends and relatives dropped in at any hour, unannounced and uninvited, often staying until late. Spot us outside? “Chalo, let’s go inside for tea.” And in they came.

The ladies’ tailors stitched clothes at home, always secretive, hiding their work from prying neighbours. Shops roared with business in Civil Lines, Chowk Market, and Katra Market—material shops, toy shops, bakeries—all packed with shoppers, bargaining, laughing, stocking up. Rickshaw-wallas pedalled through the streets in Santa hats and costumes, wobbling hilariously over puddles. Few people had cars; cycles, cycle rickshaws, and doolies made of wood and mesh were the main transport.

In the week before Christmas, the dhobi and cobbler were in huge demand. Everyone rushed to the dhobi to get clothes ironed, and the cobbler worked overtime, resoling and polishing shoes that would be proudly worn on Christmas Day. Unlike today, shoes were repaired and reused until they practically became family heirlooms.

At home, the kitchen became a warzone of sweets and snacks—shakarpara, namakpara, rose cookies, kulkuls, murukku, and salted meat—all competing for the title of “most devoured.” Dry fruits were chopped for the Christmas cake, filling the house with a smell that was December itself. Boys ran around hunting for branches to make Christmas trees, and those trees—well-decorated in each home with ornaments, tinsel, and twinkling lights—gave the colony a magical shimmer. One cousin inevitably got tangled in the tinsel, creating fits of laughter. Christmas cards arrived by the bagful—25 to 50 per family—and were proudly strung around the mantle piece, turning living rooms into glittering galleries of greetings.

Sometimes, family members arrived from hill stations, the UK, or Australia to spend Christmas in Allahabad. Their sudden appearance added excitement, laughter, and a touch of glamour, as cousins reunited, stories were swapped, and everyone tried to impress the visiting relatives with the best food, decorations, and festive cheer.

Of course, there was the must-do midnight Mass at every church. Despite the cold, drizzle, or mud underfoot, people trudged along on cycles, rickshaws, or just their legs, arriving to see candles flicker, bells ring, and the whole town united in music and cheer.

Christmas Day itself was a parade. The postman, telegram man, household helpers—all arrived to collect their goodie bags. Snacks disappeared as fast as they were fried. Evenings meant parties everywhere, music spilling through the colony, and club dances where adults attempted foxtrots and jives while children tried desperately to look grown-up.

The true highlight of Christmas Day was opening gifts. Almost every house had its own Santa—usually a willing uncle or elder brother—disguised with a hat, a fake beard, or a booming voice. The thrill, laughter, and sneaky attempts to peek at presents made it a day everyone remembered long after the last card was read or the last cookie eaten.

Christmas wasn’t just for Christians—it belonged to everyone. Hindus, Muslims, Sikhs, Christians—all joined in, ate sweets, laughed, danced, and celebrated together. The whole town became a festival, bursting with joy, chaos, and warmth.

All small towns like Allahabad had very similar festive rhythms. Everybody knew everybody. Between Christmas and New Year, and well into early January, the wedding season kicked in. Invitations arrived in string-tied envelopes, and suddenly every street was a blur of music, lights, dancing, and enough food to feed a small army. Every wedding was another excuse for merriment, more snacks, more music, and, naturally, more mischief.

It was also a magical time, when friendships deepened, laughter was shared, and young romances quietly sparked in the festive air.

Those were fun times. Simple times. Good times.

The cold winds, hot chai, pakoras, salted meat, music, Christmas cards on the mantle, twinkling lights on well-decorated trees and houses, midnight Mass, doolies, rickshaws, fires on street corners, bustling tailors, cobblers, dhobis—all of it blended into a warm, sparkling tapestry. Most of all, it was the family gathered together, teasing, laughing, sharing stories, helping each other, eating, dancing, celebrating—every moment wrapped in love. Those winters were more than holidays; they were a reminder that life’s simplest joys—togetherness, laughter, and festive cheer—leave the deepest memories. 

That was the real magic of an Allahabad winter, and of every small town where the holidays meant hearts full of warmth, laughter, and love that lingered long after the season ended.

Camping

 Camping: The Luxury I Don’t Need

With the great weather in the UAE now, anybody and everybody is out camping. Cars loaded, convoys taking off—like cheerful desert expeditions marching proudly into the sand. It’s the winter holiday highlight. Lovely for them. Truly. But I’ll admire it from a distance… preferably from indoors.

Think back to your last camping trip… alright, maybe this hits harder if you’re under 40. As for me, I’ve earned the right to prefer comfort over chaos. A neck with dramatic tendencies, a back with strong opinions, and a digestive system that demands diplomacy do not pair well with “let’s sleep on rocks.” Camping and I follow entirely different life philosophies.

Sleeping on the ground? My back wheezes with laughter. Cold nights in a tent? My neck drafts a legal complaint. Food with a hint of grit? My digestion stages a walkout. Toilets? If the sales pitch begins with “just find a spot,” I’m already gone.

Big crowds? Hard pass. I’m a few-close-friends type of guy. And tents? Unless they’re tall enough to host a wedding, my claustrophobia will start rehearsing for a full dramatic performance. Please, don’t fence me in.

I sleep by 10 p.m., wake up rested, and avoid dirt, mosquitoes, and surprise back spasms. So enjoy your campfires and midnight owl concerts—I’ll be perfectly cozy at home, whispering with conviction: “Amen.

 No tents for me.

A Year Older, A Heart Fuller: Reflections on Joy, Purpose, and Life’s Journey

 A Year Older, A Heart Fuller: Reflections on Joy, Purpose, and Life’s Journey

On my birthday this year, I find myself reflecting on the journey so far and cherishing the people and moments that matter most. From a young age, I was curious, eager to explore, and ready to make the most of every opportunity. I was inspired by my mother — honest, hard-working, sincere, and always truthful. Watching her navigate life with integrity showed me that character, effort, and kindness matter more than circumstances. I even dreamed of becoming a priest — not out of a calling, but because I saw priests living comfortably, respected, and being called “Father” everywhere they went. I thought, “Why not me?” Life had other plans — and a better sense of humor.

Music became my first teacher. Playing drums, strumming the guitar, and singing taught me that joy isn’t something that happens by chance — it’s something you cultivate. Part-time gigs and small earnings showed me that music is both a delight and a teacher. Each rhythm and melody brought laughter, camaraderie, and freedom that made life vibrant.

Purpose naturally followed. Teaching became my calling. I took a small loan to pursue my studies, started as a young teacher, and over the decades moved into leadership — first as a headmaster, then principal, and later as a senior administrator and mentor. Purpose gave my work direction and meaning. Leadership is never a solo act. I’ve been fortunate to be surrounded by talented, committed people who made everything possible. I often joke that my teams made me look good — and they did. Watching those I mentored rise to senior leadership roles has been one of life’s greatest rewards. Over the years, I have taught thousands of pupils, many of whom are still in touch, which fills me with joy and a sense of continuity. Through talks, TED presentations, blogs, and newspaper articles, I’ve loved inspiring others to find their own path and purpose.

Even the small journeys along the way have been part of the adventure. As a teen I started commuting on a ladies’ cycle because that was all I had, then moved on to a second-hand gents’ bike, a scooter, and later a variety of cars. Now I enjoy the comfort and safety of my current vehicle — not bad for someone who started on two wheels meant for someone else!

Joy and purpose are amplified by gratitude. I notice small miracles: sunlight streaming through a window, the feel of earth in my garden, a cat purring on my lap, the sparkle in a grandchild’s eye, the comfort of reading the newspapers, or a conversation with a close friend. Faith reminds me that life itself is a gift, fleeting and precious. Family, a small circle of friends, simple pleasures, and visits to new countries are constant reminders of life’s richness.

I have often been told that I haven’t changed over the years — and I find myself thinking, why should I? The core of who I am, my values and passions, has always guided me.

Looking back, my life has been shaped not by inheritance but by choices — to work hard, play music, teach, mentor, inspire, laugh, and embrace opportunities. Hard work, commitment, and kindness have been my compass. Joy, purpose, and gratitude are threads woven together, creating a life rich in meaning and connection.

Learning never stops. Even now, I keep discovering new things — from reading and writing to observing the world and listening to those around me. Being in education has its advantages: youth surround you, their energy and curiosity constantly challenge and inspire you, keeping the mind young.

Life continues to surprise me. There are still songs to play, rides to enjoy, lessons to learn, laughter to share, and stories to tell. Yet living well demands seriousness: there are no shortcuts to growth. Strive, work hard and smart, be accountable, and deliver. Make a difference where you can, adapt to the world as it is, and accept that you can’t always have your way. Learn when to stand your ground and when to keep your peace. Embracing these lessons builds resilience, character, and the ability to contribute meaningfully to something greater than yourself.

A life well lived is one filled with joy, purpose, gratitude, and the people who matter most. To live fully is to embrace these gifts — and to leave the world a little better than you found it. That is my guide, my mission, and my gift.

Digital madness

 Digital Madness: When Sanity Takes a Holiday

Why do we keep watching videos we know are fake, ridiculous, and probably designed to melt our brains? These clips — you know the ones — are instantly recognizable as AI-generated, yet somehow wildly entertaining. Extra-large tigers pouncing on people. Midget lions leaping onto motorcycles and dragging riders into some digital abyss. Humans attempting “stunts” that start with a hint of the sublime and plunge straight into the absurd. Scenes so implausible they defy logic before your finger even reaches the “scroll” button. Reason clocked out early.

And the audio… oh, the audio. Screeches sharp enough to slice eardrums. Commentary that reads like it was typed by someone trapped in a basement with no oxygen. That hideous, hyena-like laughter — the kind that makes you want to toss your phone into the nearest river. These “creators,” if we can call them that, clearly have more time than sense. Any thinking human spots the fakeness instantly, yet the videos stride boldly across your feed, adding insult to injury with every pixel. Common sense kidnapped. Patience mildly electrocuted.

Each scroll is a fresh assault on sanity. Cars flipping in ways that would make physics file an official complaint. People surviving falls that would bury an elephant. Wild animals treating humans like props from a low-budget cartoon. You squint, groan, laugh, despair, and consider a digital detox — all in three seconds. Disgust, fascination, helpless laughter — pick your poison.

Sometimes, you pause to wonder: who are these people? What cosmic boredom birthed their creativity? And why, oh why, do they persist in making tigers look like stunt doubles for action movies no one asked for? Yet there you are, scrolling, eyes wide, half in disbelief, half in delight, knowing full well sanity has quietly taken an extended vacation. Humanity at its finest — absurd, relentless, and strangely compelling.

Congratulations, internet — welcome to the theatre of the absurd. Take a bow.

The Air Walk saga- My eight glorious paces of Ridiculousness

 The Air Walk Saga: My Eight Glorious Paces of Ridiculousness

Gravity, ageing knees, and a craze I had no business attempting.

Have you ever attempted something so ridiculous, so utterly absurd, that embarrassment was inevitable… and yet you couldn’t resist?

That, my friends, is how I found myself attempting the Air Walk — the mystical move where you drift in slow motion like a low-budget sci-fi hero, then — WHOOSH — break into a sprint as if someone yelled, “FINAL CALL FOR BOARDING!”

Naturally, I thought, How hard can it be?

First came mental rehearsal. In my head? Majestic. Weightless. Feather-in-the-breeze elegance. I even imagined a heroic soundtrack.

Then came sofa rehearsal. I sat there, mimicking the footwork. I looked like a confused pigeon. My cat glanced at me, then walked away, unimpressed.

Finally, bed rehearsal. Legs in the air, toes pointed, feeling oddly powerful. Thank goodness my wife and grandkids were downstairs — their expressions would have been legendary. I imagined their applause anyway, which made the effort feel cinematic.

Now, before you judge: I am old, but not yet ancient. I can walk unaided, jog a bit, even manage an energetic sprint. You get the drift. But extreme sporty stuff like AIR WALKING? That’s a different ball game. I had promised myself the days of reckless heroism were behind me — no more illusions of youthful bravado. Some things are best admired from a safe distance.

And yet, here I was. Every so often, a crazy thought strikes: Tonight — Air Walk. Adrenaline pumping. Silly, but thrilling. I slipped out quietly, like a secret agent on a ridiculous mission.

I slunk onto the little dead-end road near our place. Not a soul in sight. Perfect — my runway, my destiny.

The air was cool, carrying a gentle hush. A few stars shimmered above, shy against the city glow. Streetlights cast soft pools of light, and a wind rustled the leaves — as if the universe itself was holding its breath.

Then, like solemn critics in a front-row box, our two stray cats appeared. One perched on the curb, tail flicking, the other lounging in shadows. Their eyes followed me with unblinking attention — the only witnesses. My daughters and sons-in-law would have been spellbound. My wife? Possibly questioning all her life choices.

Deep breath… steady… and go.

Slow start. Check. Picked up the pace. Check. Limbs cooperating, Sketchers loyal, dignity mostly intact.

Then: the REAL DEAL.

Before you could say “Jackson” or “Elvis Presley,” I was AIR WALKING — eight glorious paces of pure ridiculousness. Muscles protesting, movements exaggerated, cats judging in solemn silence.

By the end… collapse in slow motion. Breathless. Gasping. Limbs flailing like a hero in a low-budget action scene. Muscles staging a full revolt. Utterly spent, yet undeniably legendary.

The only regret? I didn’t record it. No one will believe me. My colleagues might have muttered, “Is that really Mr Guzder?”

Calves tight. Knees sulking. Back threatening to resign.

And yet… for those eight glorious paces, I was weightless, ridiculous, and entirely, unapologetically alive. I was not just a senior citizen — I was a hero, a performer, a legend — if only in the solemn, judging eyes of two unimpressed cats.

The Air Walk is deceptive. It looks easy. It feels glorious. It humbles you. It mocks you. It leaves you questioning every life choice… while laughing at yourself harder than you have in years.

I may have promised myself no more illusions of bravado, no more reckless heroics. But for those eight absurd, glorious paces, I would do it all over again — slow motion, flailing, pride bruised, dignity optional… and loving every ridiculous second of it.