Category: Personal

Living Among Traitors


Life has a way of introducing us to people we never thought we’d meet — and sometimes, the hardest lessons come wrapped in familiar faces.

Over the years, I’ve crossed paths with many I once called friend, partner, confidant. They didn’t just disappoint me — they betrayed me. And the deeper the trust, the sharper the cut.

  • I’ve been cheated by a business partner I built dreams with.
  • I’ve been betrayed by someone I loved and trusted with my heart.
  • I’ve been exploited by an advocate friend, who saw my crisis not as a moment to help, but as an opportunity to take.
  • I’ve been let down by a close friend and core team member — someone I trusted blindly, only to find my trust was the rope they used to walk away.
  • I’ve watched an ex-employee, who was once a friend, vanish when we hit the toughest stretch — a stretch they had a hand in creating.
  • I’ve seen friends wear the mask of loyalty, only to disappear when I needed them most.
  • And I’ve known those who stayed only while the money flowed — vanishing the moment it stopped.


The cruel truth is this: traitors don’t announce themselves. They don’t come with warning signs or red flags. They blend in, laugh with you, celebrate with you, and then… when you’re least prepared, they reveal who they truly are.

It took me years to accept that filtering them out completely is almost impossible. Some will only show their colours when the stakes are high, when your back is against the wall, when you have no energy left to defend yourself.

So, here’s what I’ve learned — not from books or quotes, but from life cutting me open and teaching me to heal:

You can’t stop traitors from existing, but you can stop them from destroying you.


Don’t waste your days wishing they hadn’t done what they did. Don’t burn your life trying to expose them all. Instead, learn to walk among them — eyes open, heart guarded, spirit unbroken.

Because in a world full of masks, survival isn’t about finding only the good. It’s about knowing the bad, and still moving forward with strength, wisdom, and the quiet power of someone who cannot be broken twice the same way.

I Worked Hard… and My Health Quit


For 25 years, I lived a lifestyle that worked against my own health. I worked nights, slept in the mornings, and believed that hard work mattered more than rest. Most days, I slept barely 4–5 hours and thought that was normal.

On top of that, my food habits were no better — eating out regularly, choosing junk over real meals, and drinking processed, sugary beverages. Over the years, these choices quietly built up into bigger problems: **sleep apnea, high BP, constant body stiffness**, and a general loss of energy.

What I’ve Learned (From My Own Mistakes)

  • Keep a regular rhythm:** Eat on time and sleep at least 8 hours.
  • Move every day:** A 30-minute walk daily is non-negotiable. Add yoga 3–4 times a week if you can.
  • Stretch your body daily:It keeps stiffness away and mobility intact.
  • Be mindful with food:** If you love food, enjoy it — but limit cheat days to 1–2 a week.
  • Stay connected:Keep in touch with close friends you can talk to openly.
  • Nurture your passions:If sports aren’t an option, try cooking, gardening, or any small activity that brings joy.

Looking back, much of my health damage came from **carelessness and lack of awareness**. If I had known the long-term cost earlier, I would have made different choices.

So here’s my advice from experience:

A balanced life isn’t a luxury — it’s the foundation for everything else you want to achieve.

When Dreams Turn Into Daggers


When the hand that built the dream holds the knife that kills it.

In 2008, six of my friends did something most people only dream about.

They walked away from cozy jobs, steady paychecks, and the warm security of “playing safe” to build something bigger. Something worth remembering. They were all in their late 20s, brimming with fire. They took loans, emptied savings, and pledged the prime of their lives to a single dream.

The world of entrepreneurship, however, wasn’t the romantic adventure they imagined. It was brutal, unforgiving, and often lonely. They worked sleepless nights, took no salary for months, and when they finally did, it was far below what they could have earned elsewhere. They traded comfort for survival, and survival for the hope of victory.

And slowly, painfully, they built a brand — a brand that became a name others admired, a story that inspired.

But today… that story has a bitter ending.

One person’s greed — one — has turned all of that sweat, sacrifice, and shared hardship into ashes.
Three of my friends, who bled for this company for 15 long years, have been thrown out. Not because they failed. Not because they lacked value. But because the man they trusted — a friend — decided he wanted it all.

Money. Power. Control.

The irony? That man is my friend too. And watching him walk the same path as my ex‑business partner is like déjà vu wrapped in heartbreak. I’ve lived through betrayal. I’ve woken up to the taste of iron in my mouth, knowing someone I trusted had buried a knife in my back. I know the hollow it leaves inside you.

He needs to understand — really understand — what it means to crush the very people who carried you through the storms.
He needs to know that the applause he hears today will fade… and karma has the longest memory of all.

And to my friends who were wronged —
I want to tell you this:
Believe in yourself. Stay the course. Don’t let the poison of betrayal seep into the veins of your purpose. Karma takes time, yes… but when it moves, it never misses. I have seen it with my own eyes.

Success built on betrayal is a glass palace. It may look beautiful now, but the cracks are already forming.
And one day, when it shatters, the shards will cut deeper than any knife.

The Many Races of Childhood and Why I Choose to Slow Down


When I was a kid, life was simpler. We had one or two races to run—maybe a 100-meter dash at school, or the occasional race to grab a front-row seat on a bus ride. But today’s kids?

They’re sprinting in every direction.

  • A race in academics
  • A race in sports
  • A race in arts — music, dance, painting, coding… you name it.

Yesterday, I accompanied my daughter to her football zonals. I love watching her play, but what caught my attention wasn’t the game—it was the sidelines.

One parent was passionately talking about his daughter. She’s a topper in taekwondo, athletics, football, badminton. He wasn’t bragging but he was relentlessly calculating. He had recently moved her from her existing badminton club (where my daughter trains) to a “better” one, calling ours mediocre. You could see the pressure in his eyes and probably in his daughter’s shoulders too. He was pushing her to conquer all the milestones he missed in his own childhood.

Then there’s a friend of mine, a doting father. He’s got his daughter enrolled in every possible online class from Odo, Hindi, math, coding. He proudly told me she’s a Hindi pandit at 12. I casually mentioned, “Languages are beautiful, but if not practiced, they fade.” That offended him. He insists I’m being inefficient as a father because I don’t push my daughter like he does his.

Let me be clear—I’m not saying they’re wrong.

Their intentions come from love. They want to give their kids a better life, a stronger start, and more opportunities. But here’s my honest question:

Why make them run in every race?

Why can’t a child just choose one path—be it football, painting, dance, math—and go deep into it? Why must we chase breadth when they crave depth?

Childhood is not a battleground of unfinished parental dreams. It’s a playground for self-discovery.

We all want our children to succeed. But what if success isn’t standing on the winner’s podium in five fields at once? What if it’s simply being joyful, curious, and deeply good at one thing they actually  love?

In a world full of rat races, I choose to let my daughter jog, walk, pause, even skip… as long as she enjoys the journey.

13 Years Later: The Gym, the Pain, and the (Not-So-Flexible) Comeback


It’s been 6 days since I rejoined the gym in Madurai after 13 long years — and so far, I’ve been doing one thing consistently: stretching. And by stretching, I mean attempting to bend my body while it protests like an old rusted door.

The first 4 days were… let’s just say, humbling. My arms were so sore, my right bicep started pulsing like it had a heartbeat of its own — tup-tup, as if to say, “Welcome back, buddy!”

Stretching used to be my favorite part of working out. Back in my old gym days, I’d look forward to it so much that I’d pester my trainer (and friend) Satheesh to stretch me out every chance I got. Fast forward to now — Satheesh runs his own gym, and it’s nostalgic being back under his guidance. With him around, even pain feels like a reunion tour — starring Me vs My Body.

The last two days, I finally started enjoying the stretches again. There’s a strange comfort in feeling slightly less stiff. Progress, right?

But the real villain in this comeback story? The foam roller for abs. Just thinking about it makes my stomach muscles whimper. I’ve tried using it for 6 days straight, but my core refuses to cooperate. I now understand why it’s called a “core” — because mine has gone completely missing.

Anyway, I’ve promised myself three months of pure discipline. No shortcuts. No giving up. First, I’ll get back to being normal. Then, slowly and steadily, I’ll work toward light workouts — you know, the kind that don’t make me look like a baby giraffe trying to stand.

So here I am. Six days in, halfway broken, slightly bent, but fully committed.

Let the comeback begin — one stiff stretch at a time.

Full Circle, But Not the Same Me


I don’t know if life has come full circle. But it feels like I’m standing at a point where I can see the consequences of every seed once sown — even the ones I regret planting. Time, as they say, is a strange healer. It doesn’t erase the past, but it dulls the sting. The rage, the grief, the helpless ache… they slowly dissolve into a kind of quiet understanding.

But there are scars that no healing touches. Wounds inflicted long ago — not by enemies, but by those I once held close — they carved something permanent into me. Not like the betrayal that came 17 years ago.

Some say, “They’re suffering now. Maybe you could reach out. Offer help. Give solace. Be the bigger person.”

And honestly? I could. By God’s grace, I now stand in a place where I can offer help — financially, emotionally, morally. I’ve walked through fire and come out carrying water. I *could* be that person. But my heart whispers otherwise.

Because some things are not meant to be mended.

There’s a saying in Tamil: **“Pambukku paal vaikkaradhu.”** You don’t offer milk to a snake. Not out of vengeance, but out of wisdom. Some people aren’t meant to return to your life — not because you wish them harm, but because they once destroyed what was sacred. Trust. Friendship. Brotherhood.

What God took away, He did for a reason. And what He gave in return — new people, real allies, relationships born in fire and forged in loyalty — they are my true blessings. I don’t curse the ones who broke me. I don’t wish ruin upon them. But I won’t let them walk back in either.

I’ve made peace, yes. But peace doesn’t mean reunion.

Where I Missed as an Entrepreneur – A Lesson from the Plateau


I’ve always been the kind of person who loves to start things. I’ve built multiple startups. I know how to create traction, build momentum, and get things moving.

Getting from 0 to 1 was never a problem for me. In fact, I enjoyed that phase the most — brainstorming, launching, talking to early users, and seeing things take shape. That energy kept me going.

But somewhere along the way, I hit a plateau. Every time.

The initial buzz would settle. The chaos would turn into routine. And I’d feel stuck.

For a long time, I didn’t understand why this kept happening. I blamed timing, the market, even bad luck.

Only recently, I realised the truth.

I’ve always been good at building the foundation of a startup. But I never focused on building the long-term structure.

I didn’t build systems. I didn’t bring in the right people to grow what I started. I didn’t think of the next phase because I was too caught up in the early wins.

And that’s where I missed.

Looking back, I should have either exited at the right time or brought in someone who could take it forward. Someone who loves to scale, manage teams, and build processes — the things that honestly don’t excite me.

This is a common mistake many founders make — we think we have to do everything ourselves. But the real growth comes when we know our strength and let others handle the rest.

If you’re someone who loves starting up, that’s your superpower. But don’t let that become your limit.

Here’s what I’ve learnt:

  • Build with a team that complements you.
  • Plan not just for launch, but for what comes after.
  • Know when to step back or hand over.

I’m not writing this with regret — I’m writing this with clarity. And if you’re going through the same cycle, I hope this helps you see your pattern too.

Your strength is valuable. Use it wisely. And next time you build something just think beyond just starting.

Bitter First, Better Later


Failure tastes different when we find success.
Struggles taste sweeter when we achieve.
Humiliation tastes lighter when we’re recognized.
Insomnia tastes worth it when we accomplish our mission.
Criticism tastes meaningful when we become leaders.
I tasted them all when I became an entrepreneur.

By S.Anand Nataraj

Nostalgia is a Liar – And I Keep Falling for It


There’s a thief that roams around my mind often. It doesn’t steal money, time, or opportunities. It steals my now.

It’s called nostalgia – the most charming liar of all time.

I’ve realized something lately (after deep self-reflection… and one too many walks down memory lane):
We humans have a weird habit of loving what we had, and completely ignoring what we have.

Think about it…

  • We miss school when we’re in college.
  • We miss college once we start working.
  • We miss the rookie hustle when we finally settle into comfort.
  • We miss our first love when we marry a beautiful, nag-proof spouse.
  • And just when we start enjoying couplehood, kids arrive — and we start missing our couple time.

And it doesn’t stop there.

This disease spreads to professional life too:

  • We carry the baggage of past roles, old bosses, and “those glory days.”
  • We talk about how things used to be better — instead of figuring out how to make this better.

We keep looking over our shoulder, wishing life had a reverse gear.
But here’s the joke — we’re so busy missing the past that we forget to make the present miss-worthy.

So today, I’ve decided to stop romanticizing what was and start appreciating what is.
No more looking back unless it’s to laugh, learn, or let go.

Because one day, we might miss this moment too — so let’s live it like it’s worth remembering.

A Saturday to Remember – From Little Prashanth to Advocate Prashanth


I went to Trichy for the wedding reception of Advocate Prashanth. He’s not just any groom — I’ve known him since the day he was born. His father is a close family friend who never missed any of our family functions and always stood by us during tough times.

Prashanth was the youngest in our circle — always around in our get-togethers as a little boy. I’ve seen him grow, step by step, and today he’s a smart lawyer who even handles some of my cases. Seeing him as a groom made me feel both proud and emotional. It was a big fat Trichy wedding — full of people, lights, and good vibes.

Apart from the reception, it turned into a mini family get-together.

I made sure to take my kids along — I’ve started doing this more consciously. I want them to stay connected with cousins, feel the warmth of extended family, and create their own memories. They had a great time.

Even I got to catch up with my cousins, uncles, and aunties. It felt nice. These small moments matter.

We drove from Madurai to Trichy, visited my uncle and cousins, attended the wedding, and drove back. Long day, but worth every bit.

Some Saturdays are for work.
Some for rest.
This one — was for memories.