Category: Personal

Yesterday in Tirunelveli: Courtesy, Care, and Too Much Good Food


Yesterday was one of those days that quietly reminds you why real-life experiences beat all stereotypes.

I travelled to Tirunelveli to meet the Mayor, to personally invite him for an event we are organising. The meeting itself was smooth, respectful, and reassuring. He was warm, courteous, and graciously accepted the invitation to honour the occasion.

But what followed after the meeting stayed with me far more deeply.

The Mayor asked one of his friends to accompany us — not just to guide us around Tirunelveli, but also to Ambasamudram, where we were to meet another friend. What I assumed would be a simple courtesy turned into an unexpected lesson in hospitality.

From the moment we stepped out, we were no longer “guests” — we were looked after.

Lunch was arranged without fuss. Evening snacks appeared almost magically. Conversations flowed easily, without agendas or urgency. At some point, I realised something important had happened.

I had to break my diet — not out of temptation, but out of respect.

And strangely, I felt no guilt.

There is something about the southern districts of Tamil Nadu — a quiet, unspoken culture of care. No loud displays. No forced politeness. Just a natural instinct to ensure that the person with you is comfortable, fed, and at ease.

What struck me most was that no one made a big deal of what they were doing. There were no announcements, no expectations of return favours. Hospitality wasn’t a performance — it was a reflex.

In a world where meetings are rushed, calories are counted, and kindness is often transactional, this felt refreshing. Almost old-fashioned. Almost sacred.

Some places don’t just welcome you.
They take responsibility for you, even if only for a day.

And Tirunelveli, yesterday, did exactly that.

Islam, Power and Change: My Reading of a Pattern History Repeats


Over the last few years, I have been noticing a pattern that feels bigger than daily news headlines. It is not just about Saudi Arabia allowing concerts, or the UAE opening casinos, or Europe suddenly becoming more vocal against Islam. When I step back and look at history, it feels like something deeper is happening.

This is not about Islam collapsing.
It looks more like Islam is changing its role in society, the way other major religions have done before.

A pattern I see repeating in history

Whenever a religion becomes dominant for a long time, history shows a clear pattern.

First, the religion grows with confidence. It gives people law, identity, morality and order. Early Islam did this extremely well, just like early Christianity.

Then the religion merges with power. It becomes part of the state, law, education and daily life. Clerics gain authority, rules become strict, and belief is no longer only personal.

After that comes overreach. Religion starts controlling too much — what people wear, how they live, how the economy works, what pleasures are allowed. At this stage, religion slowly shifts from being a strength to being a limitation, especially for rulers and elites.

Finally comes the most important moment: the elites start stepping away from religious control.

This is the stage I believe Islam has entered now.

Why Saudi Arabia matters the most

Saudi Arabia is not just another Muslim country. It controls Mecca and Medina, which gives it symbolic authority over the entire Muslim world.

When Saudi Arabia weakens religious police, reduces clerical power, and focuses on tourism, entertainment and investment, it sends a very clear message:

Islam will no longer run the state directly.

This reminds me strongly of what happened in Europe when kings reduced the political power of the Church. Christianity did not disappear after that, but it stopped controlling public life.

That shift changed Christianity forever.

The UAE shows the future direction

The UAE is showing an even clearer model.

Islam exists there, but mostly as:

  • personal belief
  • culture
  • identity

The state itself is focused on business, money, global talent and stability. Religion is not enforced, it is managed.

This creates two very different reactions among Muslims:

  • One group quietly adapts and practices religion in private
  • Another group becomes more rigid and aggressive because it feels religion is losing space

History shows this kind of split always happens during transition periods.

About Islamophobia in Europe

I don’t see rising Islamophobia as the main cause of Islam’s problems. I see it as a reaction.

Societies become tolerant when they feel secure, and hostile when they feel insecure. Europe today is facing economic stress, migration pressure and identity confusion. In such times, societies harden.

This has happened many times before:

  • Jews in Christian Europe
  • Catholics in Protestant countries
  • Buddhists during unstable Chinese dynasties

Islamophobia is not shaping Islam’s future. It is responding to a changing balance between religion, identity and power.

What I think will actually change

Religions don’t disappear. They transform.

What I believe Islam is slowly losing:

  • Control over law and state
  • Clerical authority over daily life
  • Moral policing by governments

What I believe will remain strong:

  • Personal faith
  • Rituals and traditions
  • Cultural and ethical identity
  • Family and community practices

Islam will not stay one single shape. Like Christianity, it will fragment into many forms — cultural Muslims, spiritual Muslims, political Islamists, secular Muslims and quiet traditional believers.

This fragmentation feels uncomfortable and even dangerous in the short term. But history suggests it usually leads to long-term balance.

So, is Islam falling?

I don’t think so.

I think Islam is moving out of its imperial phase, where it controlled power and law, and entering a post-hegemonic phase, where belief becomes more personal and less enforced.

Christianity went through this after the Renaissance. It lost power, but it survived.

What Islam may lose is dominance.
What it may gain is sincerity.

History shows that religions survive not by force, but by adapting to a changing world. Islam now seems to be standing at that exact turning point.

And history, as always, has seen this story before.

Chasing the Old Me: Why Midlife Dreamers Must Stop Running Backward


When I was young, fresh out of college, I leapt into entrepreneurship with no safety net. No big family backing, no golden spoon—just a mediocre boy’s dream and the stubbornness to break every dogma that came my way. And for a while, it worked. I tasted the thrill of proving people wrong, of showing my circle what dreams can really do when you chase them with 100% fire.

Then life happened.

Marriage, kids, bills, responsibilities. Somewhere in that transition, my dream got diluted. Not because I stopped caring, but because my energy started flowing toward being a husband, a father, a provider. And every time I tried to “chase my old self,” I failed miserably.

At first, I thought I was just rusty. That I only needed to “pick up where I left off.” But the truth hit me harder than failure: time had passed, and I had changed.

We often forget that chasing our old self is like chasing a ghost. The 25-year-old me who could burn 20 hours a day on a single idea doesn’t exist anymore. Today, I’m someone new—wiser, slower maybe, but richer in perspective. And it is unfair to drag myself back into old shoes that don’t fit anymore.

This realization is liberating. It tells us that midlife is not about “continuing an unfinished story,” but about writing a new one. Dreams don’t expire—but the dreamer evolves. If you’re above 40, reading this, and still trying to become the version of you that existed before kids, marriage, or setbacks—stop. That person no longer exists.

Instead, ask: Who am I today? What do I want now?

The truth is, life doesn’t punish us for changing—it punishes us for refusing to.

The Street Dog Dilemma: Between Compassion and Reality


In India, the dog debate is heating up. Activists, pet lovers, and ordinary citizens are clashing over what’s right and what’s humane. The nuisance of street dogs is real — and I’ve personally had multiple encounters since my student days.

Now, let me be clear: I’m a pet lover myself. I had a cute pug named Burger Boy who was with me for 11 years. But here’s the truth — street dogs are not pet dogs. They live a very different life, and my anger is not against dogs, but against how so-called activists romanticize their suffering.

The Harsh Reality of Street Dogs

  • Their condition is miserable — constantly fighting with other dogs for food, territory, or a female.
  • They face the brutality of climate: heat waves, rains, floods — with no shelter.
  • They often die an ugly death — from wounds, infections, starvation, or accidents.

Yet, many “dog lovers” and “activists” don’t talk about these realities. In the guise of compassion, they’re often doing more harm to both dogs and humans by resisting structured solutions.

My Take

Loving pets is wonderful. But equating street dogs with pets is misleading. A homeless, vulnerable, and suffering animal on the road is not the same as a pampered pet at home. Pretending otherwise doesn’t help the dogs — it just prolongs their misery.

If we really care, we should think about long-term solutions: proper shelters, sterilization programs, and responsible adoption — instead of just slogans.

The Curious Case of Credit Card Rolling: A User’s Perspective


Walk down any busy street these days and you’ll spot them — stickers on EB posts, lamp posts, even trees, shouting:

“Swipe Credit Card 2% – Get Immediate Cash!”

At first, I dismissed these as shady schemes. After all, to get a swipe machine you need a merchant code, GST, and settlement into a business account. How were these guys running such a smooth cash-for-swipe business?

But here’s the catch: when you’re cash-stressed and staring at a mountain of credit card bills, these services suddenly look less like an eyesore and more like a lifeline.

How It Works

  • You give your card, they swipe it like a regular merchant.
  • Instead of goods, you get instant cash in hand (minus ~2%).
  • You roll your credit card, push the due date, and breathe easier for the moment.

From the outside, it’s a gray zone. Legal? Maybe. Illegal? Possibly. But one thing’s for sure: these guys are fast, flexible, and discreet.

My Personal Take

I’ve used these services when things got tight. And honestly? Paying 2% on the swipe feels way better than getting hammered by the bank’s 3.5% minimum due interest + GST.

It’s not a long-term solution. It’s not glamorous. But when you’re in that “just need 30 more days” situation, these credit card rollers are the silent shock absorbers of the urban middle class.

And the funniest part? I doubt the regulators even know how deep this runs. Or maybe they do — and are just letting it be, because people like me would be in much worse shape without it.

When “No Kitchen Day” Turned Into a Buffet Disaster


Yesterday, I proudly announced to my wife: “No kitchen today.” I thought I was being the hero — breakfast and dinner taken care of with parcel food, and for lunch, I even took them out to a nice hotel. What could possibly go wrong?

Well, everything.

The plan started fine. My wife ordered a soup. I went with humble sambar rice. My daughter confidently chose mini meals. So far, so good.

Then the plot twisted. My wife ordered a veg biryani. Since the biryani arrived quicker than expected, she passed it to my daughter. Next thing I knew, I was already full but somehow ended up sharing sambar rice, curd rice, coconut rice, and biryani — all mixed on one plate — and handing it back to my wife, who was still sipping her soup.

Her reaction? Pot shots.
Apparently, her carefully planned lunch looked like a crazy cocktail, and I was somehow to blame for it. Never mind that I hadn’t ordered half the food. Never mind that I was the one who actually planned the “no kitchen day.” Never mind that I turned chauffeur and host all in one.

It got me thinking — when will wives ever recognize husbands? And if not recognize, can they at least say nothing?

But then again, maybe this is the hidden rule of marriage: no good deed goes unpunished, especially if it involves food.

From Restless Waiting to Divine Pause


One thing I’ve always hated is waiting. The second — dropping someone off and hanging around until they return.

As a teenager, my mom often insisted I drop my sister at her tuition classes. I’d grumble, resist, and still end up doing it. Sometimes even my cousin hopped on, and I became the unwilling chauffeur. I’d scoot back home, only to rush again to pick them up. When my grandmother scolded me for complaining, I’d shrug it off and continue hating the waiting.

Fast forward to today — I’m a father. And life, with its irony, has placed me in the same shoes. My daughter goes for her Hindi classes, and the new normal is this: drop her, wait for an hour and a half, pick her back.

I don’t enjoy it. I still hate waiting. But parenting isn’t about what I like — it’s about responsibility.

Yet, something surprising happened. Behind this uncomfortable routine, I discovered a new kind of experience. Since her classes are in downtown Madurai with no cafés or hangout spots nearby, I started spending that waiting time in a famous temple close by.

And there, waiting turned into something else.
The temple’s silence, the chants, the fragrance of incense, and the sight of strangers in prayer gave me peace I didn’t expect. The restless ticking of time became a pause — a divine pause.

Now, I don’t complain. I stand there, soaking in the positive energy, observing life in its simple rhythms, and walking away lighter than I came in.

Maybe waiting isn’t wasted time after all. Sometimes, it’s God’s way of slowing you down.

When Control Slips Away, Fear Steps In


I’ve always believed fear doesn’t come from ghosts in the dark or thunder in the skies. Fear creeps in when you realize life is no longer in your hands — when control quietly slips away.

I felt it most sharply during the two years my dad was hospitalized. Suddenly, the reins of my father’s life weren’t in my grip — they were in the hands of doctors and fate. Every beeping machine, every delayed report, every late-night call felt like a reminder that I had no say in what would happen next. That helplessness was fear in its purest form.

I felt it again during the late evenings when most of my friends were getting married. I feared loneliness — not because I didn’t want marriage, but because it was not in my control. No matter how much I tried, the timelines didn’t align with my wishes. The steering wheel of my life seemed hijacked by something larger.

Legal battles brought their own flavor of fear. I might have been the one fighting, but the reality was — attorneys, judges, and systems controlled the pace and outcome. I was just a passenger waiting at every bend.

And that’s the cruel trick of fear — it feeds on our urge to control. The more we cling to it, the tighter fear grips us.

What I’ve Learned

You can’t control everything. What you can do is:

  • Prepare yourself mentally to accept uncertainty instead of resisting it.
  • Focus on your response, not the situation — resilience is the only lever you always own.

Because at the end of the day, fortune favours the bold.

Same Room, Different Battles


We all sat in the same classroom, didn’t we? Same chalkboard, same dusty carpet, same lessons on how to spell “success.” The timetable was identical, but life had a different curriculum waiting for each of us.

Some of us went on to be praised, some forgotten, some mourned, some judged, and some completely misunderstood. Behind those identical desks were lives that would one day scatter into destinies no textbook ever dared to predict.

And that’s the truth most of us overlook—the curriculum we were taught barely scratches the surface of what shapes a human being. We learned math, grammar, a little history. But did anyone teach us resilience? Did anyone show us how to process grief, manage anxiety, or break free from generational cycles? We memorized formulas, but no one gave us the tools to heal from invisible wounds.

Life’s real exams aren’t written on paper. They’re the sleepless nights when bills pile up, the quiet battles with self-doubt, the weight of losses no report card ever reflected.

So before you envy someone’s outcome or criticize another’s downfall, pause and remember: we all sat in the same room, but we were fighting very different battles. And no classroom, no syllabus, no chalkboard ever prepared us for that.

When Help Turns Into Hurt: The Dilemma of a Self-Sabotaging Friend


In my previous blog, I shared the story of a man who stepped into my life during one of my hardest battles. He helped me break a real estate syndicate that wouldn’t let me sell my own house for 18 months. In just two months, without connections or resources, he made it happen and pulled me out of a financial crisis. Later, he stood by me again with Advaith’s Nest, proving that my conviction on rent pricing wasn’t foolish—it was visionary. Together, we wrote history in that neighborhood.

But here’s the twist.

When it was my turn to help him, things changed. The man who once fought my battles began showing a different face. He started drinking, teasing, and pushing my patience. When I asked around, his friends told me a strange pattern: he slogs for strangers who exploit him, but ridicules those who support him.

This left me puzzled until I dug deeper. People like this often fall into some behavioral patterns:

  • The Self-Sabotager – they ruin good things for themselves.
  • The Martyr Complex – they feel valuable only when suffering for others.
  • The Toxic Altruist – they can help but cannot accept help.
  • The Insecure Rescuer – they thrive when rescuing others but crumble when rescued.

Whatever you call it, the truth is the same: such people can help you rise, but when roles reverse, they damage the very relationship they built.

It made me realize—sometimes the people who change your life can also test your patience in ways you never expected. They can be both your greatest ally and your toughest lesson.