Freezing Thoughts

When the English cricket team embraced Bazball under Ben Stokes and Brendon McCullum, it closely resembled what often happens when a struggling company brings in a new leader to shake things up. A classic example is Apple in the late 1990s. When Steve Jobs returned, Apple was fearful, slow and close to irrelevance. Jobs simplified everything, removed hesitation and encouraged boldness. The early iMacs were colorful, unconventional, and energizing. Importantly, that phase wasn’t about perfection, it was about restoring belief. Bazball did the same for England; after years of tentative, joyless cricket, Stokes and McCullum told players to stop worrying about consequences and simply play. Confidence returned, players expressed themselves and results followed quickly. Like Apple’s revival, the initial success was real and deserved.  However, many turnarounds fail when the corrective idea becomes absolute truth, rather than a temporary remedy. This happened at Uber after its explosive e...

There comes a point, often after years of striving, when the summit you’ve chased finally lies beneath your feet, instead of elation, you feel a strange stillness. The corner office, the passport filled with stamps, latest gadgets, the many comforts of life you now take for granted that once seemed a distant dream, they’re all here. Tangible and earned. Yet somewhere in the quiet between the achievements, a question begins to stir, ' Was this what I was really seeking ?'  For years, the world’s symbols of success guided your direction. The long hours, the missed moments of life, nothing more than fleeting conversations with near and dear, and the many sacrifices of yourself and those close to you, they were all part of the price agreed upon silently and implicitly. You told yourself that meaning would arrive at the destination, that peace would wait patiently at the end of accomplishment. Now that you’ve arrived, you find that the peace demands something deeper, an honest intro...

Some experiences in life feel like stepping into a lavish feast, a spread so abundant that picking a single favourite dish seems unfair. Every flavour has its own charm: the fiery heat, the quiet comfort, the unexpected surprise, and the familiar favourite. You leave the table not because you want to, but because you can’t possibly take in more, even though every part of you wishes you could. That’s what this England vs India Test series felt like. It had all the flavours you could ask for in cricket. There was the spice of confrontations that sparked fire, the warmth of mutual respect even in the fiercest battles, the sweetness of young talent blossoming, the layered richness of experience from veterans, and the bitterness of defeat after a phase when an impossible win seemed within reach. It wasn’t a contest you could sum up in a single moment. It was a full course, each session of play offering a new taste, and together they made a feast that reminded us why Test cricket is still th...

There’s a moment in the Mahabharata, after the trumpets of victory fall silent, when Arjuna turns to Krishna, his charioteer, and asks him to step down from the chariot first, as a mark of respect to the warrior. It was Arjuna’s moment of accomplishment and vanity, for he had carried the weight of the war on his shoulders, believing his strength had seen it through.  But Krishna refuses. He instructs Arjuna to descend first. Only after Arjuna obeys does Krishna step down himself, and along with him Hanuman, who was gracing the flag of the chariot, also leaves. The next instant, the grand chariot erupts into flames and crumbles to ashes. It had been damaged, struck, pierced, and cursed during the war. What had kept it from collapsing throughout the battle wasn’t Arjuna’s ability to intercept everything, but it was the presence of Krishna and Hanuman. As long as divinity remained within, the destruction had held its breath. Once this realization hits him, Arjuna instantly regrets his...

 "Asgard is not a place. It’s the people." I remember watching Thor: Ragnarok and feeling that line land deep in my bones. Not because it was heroic or dramatic, but because it finally gave a name to something I had lived for years, without ever knowing how to speak it. When you’re constantly on the move, the walls blur. But what never fades are the people who became home, or your Asgard, for a while.  Asgard is a late-night conversation with your cousin in a semi-furnished apartment. It’s the quiet solidarity of a friend helping you lift your life. It’s the look shared across a conference room, where something real passed between two people, who knew they were about to build something that wouldn’t last forever, and chose to build it anyway. An involuntary hug, a gaze held a tad too long, a pat on top of a handshake, glistening eyes, a little nod, unfinished sentences - these are my Asgards.  Brief, luminous, unforgettable. Like constellations across the night sky of mem...

House No. 39.  I haven’t moved into it yet. But I already know I won’t be packing it into boxes. By the time you’ve moved 38 times across 11 cities and 4 countries, you start to measure life differently. Not in square footage or bank statements, but in how long you let your heart stay open before the next inevitable goodbye. People have often asked me: Why so many moves? Was it work? Was it choice? Was it restlessness? Sometimes I moved because I had to. Other times, because I knew something inside me had already left, even if my body hadn’t caught up yet. This post is not about the cities, or the airports, or even the houses. It’s about the pattern I only recently recognized, one where I build something beautiful; a business, a friendship, a future, and then quietly, and respectfully walk away. And now, as I stand before House No. 39, metaphorically or literally, I wonder: What happens if I don’t walk away this time? What happens if I stay? Not just physically. Emotionally. Spirit...