Category: Personal

The Rookie I Once Was… and the Veteran I’ve Become


Between the fearless rookie and the cautious veteran lies the bridge back to possibility.

There was a time when I was a rookie and those really were my golden days. Back then, every day felt fresh and exciting. I had no baggage, no fear of messing up, and no overthinking. I was just focused on learning, growing, and enjoying the journey.

Friends were always around. They weren’t just people I knew but they were my sounding boards, my stress-busters, my biggest supporters. We shared laughs, and setbacks never felt heavy because there was no past baggage to drag me down. That freedom was the biggest reason my performance was at its peak. I was curious, fearless, and fully present in the moment.

But today, things are different. Over the years, experience has piled up. At first, I thought this would make life easier but it has quietly built walls around me. Every new idea now gets filtered through doubts, old memories, and what-ifs. The excitement to try something new often gets buried under “what if it goes wrong?”

Responsibilities have grown, and the emotional load is heavier. The close circle of friends has thinned; everyone is busy fighting their own battles. And connecting with the younger generation feels almost impossible — our worlds and ways of thinking are too different.

Simple solutions that once worked well are now called outdated. Everything is more complex, more layered, and somehow less human. When I try to rely on my experience, I’m often brushed aside as being “old school,” which only makes me more hesitant.

This cycle has taken a toll on my discipline and consistency. Days turn into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years and the one thing that quietly grows is procrastination.

It was hard to become successful. Staying sharp and moving forward is even harder. The toughest part? Getting back up and moving again when your mind keeps reminding you of all the things that could go wrong. That invisible weight can hold you back longer than any real setback ever could.

I now feel stuck between who I was and who I’ve become. The rookie in me was fearless, always ready to explore. The experienced me hesitates, overthinks, and gets stuck in old patterns.

Somewhere inside, though, that rookie spirit still exists. I believe it’s waiting for me to let go of the baggage, to stop living in the shadow of the past, and to start moving forward again.

Maybe the real answer isn’t about choosing one side but about keeping the rookie’s hunger alive while using the wisdom I’ve gained.

Because at the end of the day, time will keep moving whether we do or not. But what we do with it — that’s still in our hands.

When Shares Turn into Silent Specters: My Two-Year Battle with KFintech


Some stories are about success. Some are about failure. And some, like mine, fall into an endless limbo — a space where you’re not losing, yet you’re not winning either.

I still remember the excitement of participating in the Reliance Petroleum IPO years ago. It wasn’t just an investment; it felt like owning a tiny piece of a giant vision. Fast forward to 2009: Reliance Petroleum was merged into Reliance Industries, and a swap ratio was announced — for every 16 shares of RPL, one share of RIL would be issued.

Sounds simple enough, right? In a perfect world, yes. But in my world, simplicity turned into a long-winding maze.

At the end of 2008, life threw me off a cliff. I went through a partnership breakup, a personal relationship breakup, and a complete financial turmoil all at once. In that whirlwind of survival, I lost track of my demat investments entirely. Only around 2023 did I finally find the time — and the mental space — to look into these forgotten holdings.

When I checked my demat account years later, I realized those RPL shares were still haunting me, unconverted, unsellable, like a ghost from a forgotten ledger. I couldn’t sell them, couldn’t claim dividends — I couldn’t even move on.

ICICIDirect pointed me to KFintech, the registrar handling these transitions. And that’s where my real journey began — or should I say, where my patience was tested beyond limits.

Email after email, I kept trying. They responded asking for share certificates that never existed in the first place because my holdings were in dematerialized form. When I explained, they requested “additional proof” — statements, transaction records, holding confirmations. I provided everything, each time hoping it would be the last request, each time thinking: This is it, they’ll finally process it.

But like a twisted loop, the replies always circled back to new demands or cryptic statements: “Folio number doesn’t match,” or “Provide a scanned image of the certificate.”

Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months. And before I knew it, I had spent two years stuck in this bureaucratic labyrinth.

Somewhere along the way, I started questioning — was it my mistake? Did I miss some notification back in 2009? Did my broker fail me? Or is it simply that large systems forget small investors like us?

I don’t just see this as a technical or administrative issue anymore. It’s a test of resilience, a silent war fought through scanned attachments, politely worded follow-ups, and the relentless hope that this time it will work.

Yet, here I am. Two years later. My shares remain ghosts. My case remains “open.” My hope — well, it flickers, but it hasn’t died.

As I write this, I share not only my frustration but also my vulnerability. To all the financial advisors, experienced investors, or kind souls who’ve walked this path before and if you’ve solved such issues or know someone in this domain who can help, your guidance would be deeply appreciated.

I’m not just seeking a resolution. I’m seeking closure for my shares, and for the weary investor within me.

AI Isn’t a Tool — It’s Your New Co-Founder: Why Entrepreneurs Must Evolve or Vanish


Yesterday, as I was driving back from Tirumala with my co-founder, we found ourselves deep in a heated conversation about AI and the future of business.

He confidently declared, “AI can disrupt everything but not auditors.”

I paused for a moment, took a deep breath, and replied, “My friend, auditors aren’t immune. AI might not directly replace all auditors overnight, but it can absolutely displace the businesses that feed them. With fewer businesses around, auditors too will have to fight for a shrinking market share.”

That sparked a chain of thoughts — thoughts I believe every entrepreneur should consider as we race into this AI-driven future. Here are my raw, unfiltered predictions.

Ideate, Execute, Exit — On Repeat

The era of building a business that lasts for generations is fading. Businesses will have shorter lifecycles, and founders must constantly ideate, execute, and exit before disruption catches up. Think of it like seasons — every business will have its spring and autumn, and you’d better be ready to plant new seeds before the old ones wither.

Entrepreneurship Will Become Serial by Default

Forget about “one big idea for life.” The entrepreneurs of the future will be serial entrepreneurs by design, constantly pivoting and starting over. The ability to move fast, fail fast, and rebuild faster will define success more than holding on to a single legacy venture.

AI Should Be Your Default Co-Founder

If you’re not treating AI as a co-founder today, you’re already behind. AI can brainstorm with you, build MVPs, handle customer interactions, analyze market data, and even debug code. It’s not just a tool; it’s your silent, tireless partner who never sleeps.

Don’t Resist AI — Embrace It

If you resist AI, you’re gone. Simple. Those who cling to “the old ways” will find themselves irrelevant faster than they imagine. AI isn’t coming — it’s already here, and it’s growing exponentially.

AI Can Be Scary — But Fear Hides Opportunity

Yes, AI is scary. It challenges our skills, jobs, and identity. But behind every fear is a massive opportunity waiting to be discovered. Those who turn their fear into fuel will uncover new revenue streams and create new markets.

Learn, Unlearn, Relearn — Constantly

The ability to transform your persona continuously is no longer optional. Lifelong learning will become lifelong unlearning too. You’ll need to dismantle old mental models, absorb new ones, and then adapt again — a perpetual evolution cycle.

Human Thinking Still Matters — You Need to Think Beyond Prompts

You can’t achieve extraordinary results with ordinary prompts. You need to understand AI’s algorithms, limitations, and strengths. In our own journey, we discovered that most AI models hallucinate when working with more than 2,000 lines of code.

So, we broke the problem into modules with mega prompts, solved them one by one, and integrated everything back together. That’s where human thinking shines — designing strategies, breaking down problems, and piecing solutions together creatively.

AI isn’t just another wave — it’s a tsunami reshaping entire coastlines. Whether you ride it or get swept away is up to you.

I’ve chosen to ride it, reimagine my role, and evolve faster than ever before.

What about you?

Entrepreneur Karma: The Invisible Balance Sheet


While you chase numbers, karma quietly balances your true ledger.

You can pivot your business, but you can’t pivot your karma.

An entrepreneur’s life is like sailing in a stormy ocean. You chart your route on glossy pitch decks, you shout “growth” from your deck, and you dream of finding treasure islands called “unicorns.”

But while you’re chasing your horizon, something else silently follows you — karma.

Your silent co-founder

Karma is your silent co-founder.
It doesn’t ask for equity.
It doesn’t sit in boardrooms.
But it audits your soul every night.

Your team, your mirror

If you lead with greed, you’ll breed seeds of speed — people who flee when you bleed.
If you lead with heart, you’ll build an army that won’t fall apart.

Customers — your echo

Treat them like transactions, and they’ll vanish like distractions.
Treat them like humans, and they’ll become your loudest hymn.

Shortcuts cut your soul

You can lie to investors and the world. But when the lights go out, only karma sleeps beside you.
Quick wins often echo as lifelong sins.

Energy never expires

You think that unpaid intern forgot?
You think that co-founder betrayal is buried?
In the ledger of karma, no line item is ever fully written off.

“You can exit your company, but you can’t exit your karma.”
“Your valuation may fade, but your vibration stays.”

So dear entrepreneur, build your karma balance sheet as carefully as your P\&L.
Because at the end, it’s not the shares you hold, but the souls you touch that become your true legacy.

Entrepreneur Dogma: The Silent Killer of Originality


“I started to build my dream. Somewhere along the way, I started building someone else’s playbook.”

In the wild world of startups, we love hero stories. The founder who hustled 24/7, the genius who failed fast and rose again, the team that raised millions overnight.

We turn these stories into gospel. We worship them as dogma — rigid, holy commandments that every founder must obey.

But here’s the dangerous truth:
Dogma is a shortcut to comfort, not success.

The deadliest dogmas every entrepreneur is sold.

1️⃣ Hustle 24/7 or die trying

Work until you collapse. Sleep when you’re dead. Family? Health? Who cares.

Sounds heroic, right?
In reality, this is how burnout is sold as a badge of honor. Sustainable success comes from sharp focus and energy — not self-destruction.

2️⃣ Fail fast, fail often

Yes, learning from failure is crucial. But romanticizing failure without learning is like celebrating a car crash because it “taught you something.”

Failure is a teacher — not a strategy.

3️⃣ Raise money at all costs

Somewhere along the line, we decided VC money was a trophy. The more you raise, the more you “win.”

But money is a tool, not a victory parade.
Your business might thrive better bootstrapped, profitable, and free.

4️⃣ The customer is always right

No. Some customers are wrong, loud, and costly. Your job is to choose your customer — not please everyone.

5️⃣ Growth above everything

We chase hockey-stick graphs, forgetting that vanity metrics are just that — vanity.
Revenue without margins, customers without loyalty, growth without soul — these lead to slow deaths disguised as momentum.

Why do we fall for dogma?

Because it’s easy.
It feels safer to follow a known path than to carve your own.
It feels cooler to repeat Silicon Valley slogans than to think deeply about your own reality.

Dogma gives you a script — but the greatest founders write their own.

The Entrepreneur’s Curse: When the Dream Becomes the Cage


Built to break free, but chained by our own ambition.

“I started to escape the 9-5. But now, I work 24/7 for a boss called ‘my dream’.”

Every entrepreneur starts with a fire in their belly. We tell ourselves, “I’ll be my own boss. I’ll build something meaningful. I’ll find freedom.”

But somewhere along the way, that freedom becomes a mirage. We become prisoners to our own creation — locked inside a cage we proudly built brick by brick.

The never-ending chase

Entrepreneurs are wired to keep moving. The moment we achieve a milestone, we don’t celebrate — we set a new, bigger one.

Your startup gets its first 100 customers? You think, “Why not 1,000?”
You close a big deal? You’re already eyeing the next.

Ambition is our superpower. But it’s also our slow poison.

The idea overdose

Our minds don’t stop. We’re cursed with constant ideation — new products, new pivots, new “next big things.”

We often leave half-built bridges behind, chasing the next shiny island on the horizon. And each unfinished idea weighs on us like a ghost of potential.

The loneliness paradox

Surrounded by a team, admired by peers, loved by family — yet feeling utterly alone.

Why? Because the final decisions, the late-night worries, the quiet fears — they’re all yours.

Success has many fathers, but failure is an orphan — and that orphan usually lives in the entrepreneur’s heart.

The financial and emotional rollercoaster

Some months feel like flying private jets; other months feel like you’re holding on to a falling kite in a storm.

You burn cash, energy, and sometimes your own sanity to keep things alive. Meanwhile, friends in stable jobs post pictures from their vacations, and your blood boils — not from envy, but from the realization that your hustle never really sleeps.

The silent sacrifice

Family dinners become “quick calls.” Gym sessions become “next month.” Sleep? A mythical creature you read about in productivity books.

The worst part? You justify it all in the name of “passion.”

The identity trap

Your business becomes your identity. Wins feel like personal validation; losses feel like public humiliation.

The line between *who you are* and *what you do* blurs until you can’t find yourself outside your pitch deck.

“We wanted freedom, but we got shackles made of ambition.”

The entrepreneur’s curse isn’t just about work stress. It’s about the emotional tax no one talks about. It’s about fighting invisible wars within your mind, every single day.

Yet, we keep going. Why? Because despite the curse, we love the game.

We love building, dreaming, and living on the edge. Because deep down, even our suffering is a story we want to own.

A Generation Disconnected: Where Did We Lose the Thread?


We didn’t grow up visiting hotels. We grew up visiting hearts.

When I close my eyes and think of my childhood, it’s never about fancy vacations or five-star resorts. It’s the smell of my grandmother’s kitchen, the chaos of sleeping ten to a room on the floor, the shared laughter echoing through my uncle’s village home.

Holidays didn’t mean plane tickets or curated itineraries. Holidays meant piling into crowded buses and trains, hopping from one relative’s house to another. We didn’t book hotels but our homes were each other’s hotels. Our cousins weren’t just “relatives,” they were our first friends, our first rivals, our first lessons in sharing, forgiving, and standing up for each other.

We fought like cats and dogs over a piece of mango, formed secret gangs in the neighborhood, and defended each other in front of elders even if we had fought the previous night. Those silly fights and spontaneous adventures taught us patience, empathy, and resilience. They made us feel rooted, as if no matter how tough the world was outside, there was always a gang waiting with open arms.

But today, as I watch my children grow, I feel a quiet ache in my heart. The world has become smaller and faster, yet our circles have become narrower and colder.

Most of my cousins have moved abroad. We now meet on rare occasions and a rushed dinner, a hurried coffee. When they visit India, they stay in hotels or spend a day at our home before moving on. Our children look at each other like polite strangers, awkwardly sharing a few minutes before retreating to their screens. By the time they warm up, it’s already time to say goodbye.

When I was my daughter’s age, I had at least 15 cousins with whom I had created countless stories. Even today, no matter how far they are, I can pick up the phone and know there’s a friend on the other side who understands me without explanations.

But what about our kids? Who will they call when they’re lonely at midnight? Who will they turn to when they need that quiet moral support that only someone who grew up with you can offer?

We’ve unknowingly cut off a generation from the warmth of cousinhood, from the small fights that build big hearts, from the comfort of shared silences and shared mischief. We’ve traded community for comfort, depth for convenience.

I often wonder, if this new normal progress or a quiet tragedy? Are we giving them wings but forgetting to give them roots?

I don’t have all the answers. But I know this: relationships don’t grow in hotel lobbies or quick meet-ups. They grow in messy kitchens, in crowded living rooms, in late-night talks that spill into dawn.

It’s not too late. We can still invite cousins to stay over, plan longer family visits, encourage our kids to spend a summer vacation at a relative’s home without us hovering around. We can start telling them our stories — about how we played, how we fought, how we learned to love each other through it all.

We owe it to them. We owe it to the silent bonds that made us who we are today.

Let’s not leave them with just photos and polite greetings. Let’s gift them the messy, beautiful, irreplaceable magic of family.

It’s Time to Meet Venky Again — A Diary in Bullet Points


I had been waiting to meet Venky (Venkatachalapathy) again, and the day finally arrived. Here’s how it unfolded — a day of blessings, roads, and memories.

Early Morning Start

* Planned to sleep early since we had to leave home by 6:30 AM, but a stiff neck and headache kept me up until 3:30 AM.
* Managed to get just 2 hours of sleep, yet woke up at 5:30 AM and got ready.
* Bala arrived right at 6:30 AM in his car.
* Bala mentioned he had never driven on a highway before and asked me to take the wheel.
* Picked up Ravi, who lives just a street behind my house.
* Reached Nithya Amirtham, Tiruvallur, around 8 AM for a hearty breakfast.
* Started driving again at 8:30 AM, feeling recharged.

Temple Visits

* First stop: Tiruchanur Padmavathy Thayar Temple.
* Took the ₹200 darshan ticket and joined the line.
* Blessed to witness a Thiru Kalyanam as we moved through.
* Had darshan of Thayar and collected our quota of laddus.

Drive to Tirumala

* Drove to Alipiri Gate and completed the scanning.
* The rule: cannot cross the stretch in less than 28 minutes to avoid penalties — drove slowly and reached Tirumala in 35 minutes.
* Parked near the entry gate, completed ticket scanning and security checks.
* Waited in a hall for 2 hours 15 minutes until the gates opened at 3:30 PM.

Divine Darshan

* Entered the sanctum and finally had the beautiful darshan of Lord Venkateswara — truly a heart-filling moment.
* Made an offering in Hindi.
* Inside the praharam, it was push and pull with the heavy crowd, but we managed to come out by 4:30 PM.
* Collected more laddus from the laddu stall.

On the Way Back

* On the way to the parking lot, witnessed the oonjal seva and received blessings from two elephants.
* During the descent, we had to cross Alipiri exit only after 40 minutes.
* Even after driving slowly, reached in 38 minutes, so we waited 2 minutes at the gate before crossing without a penalty.

Return Journey

* Started driving back by 5:15 PM.
* Reached Nithya Amirtham, Tiruvallur, for dinner at 8:30 PM, and finished by 9:10 PM.

Reflections

* It was my first time driving to Tirumala in 12 years; the last two times were via TTDC packages.
* Shocked to see the entire route transformed — endless buildings replacing the peaceful farm lands and empty stretches.
* Even Tiruchanur, once a calm village, has grown into a bustling suburb of Tirupati.
* Despite all these changes, the journey felt blessed and deeply satisfying.
* Loved reconnecting with Bala after so long, and reconnecting with Venky after years felt like coming home.

Until next time, Venky — I’ll be back.

Karma: The Bitch, The Boomerang & The Cleansing — My Take


There was a time when I thought karma was just some cosmic revenge system — a way to sleep peacefully after someone wronged me. You know, that comforting phrase we throw around: “Karma is a bitch.”

We say it when someone cheats and loses everything, or when that arrogant boss finally gets fired. It’s a bit of a guilty pleasure, like watching a villain get slapped in a movie. But the truth? This is karma in its most raw, vengeful form — the “bitch” side of karma.

Then there’s the other version we don’t talk about enough: “Karma is a boomerang.”
Throw out love, it comes back. Throw out hate, it comes back too. Unlike the bitchy version, this is not about punishment. It’s about balance. The universe simply mirrors what you put out, no drama, no extra seasoning.

And finally, there’s the silent warrior: Karma cleansing.
This is for those who decide they’re done with the loop of reaction and revenge. It’s about intentionally cleaning your slate — not by just sitting and waiting for karma to do its thing, but by consciously choosing acts of kindness, forgiveness, meditation, or service. It’s less about “waiting for them to fall” and more about “rising above my own past mess.”

Three perspectives, one principle: What you give is what you get.
Whether you want to see karma as a fierce lady with a whip, a simple returning boomerang, or a chance for deep soul detox — the choice is yours.

At the end of the day, karma is not just about punishing others. It’s a mirror, a teacher, and sometimes, the friend who gives us a much-needed slap or a hug at the right time.

“Your karma, your choice. How do you want to play this game?”

Karma and Justice: A Conversation with My Scars


When karma tips its hat, I simply watch — scarred, healed, and finally free.

I grew up hearing the phrase “justice delayed is justice denied.” In my younger days, it sounded so powerful, so sharp — a perfect line to quote when you felt wronged or betrayed.

I believed justice meant someone should pay for hurting me, and they should pay now. I carried this belief with me, holding it close every time I felt cheated or double-crossed.

When I was betrayed, I felt an almost animal-like hunger for revenge. I would replay moments in my head, craft imaginary confrontations, and wish that karma would strike them down while I was still raw and bleeding.

But as time passed, something changed.

Life didn’t stop for my pain. The people who hurt me moved on, sometimes even seeming happier than before. I stayed stuck in a loop of anger, frustration, and helplessness, waiting for karma to arrive like a superhero and save me from my inner chaos.

Years later, karma finally did visit them. Two of the people who had hurt me so deeply faced their consequences — harshly. But by then, something unexpected had happened to me: I had healed.

When I heard about their downfall, it felt like reading an old news headline. There was no thrill, no moment of triumph, no fireworks. Just a quiet nod inside me, as if my soul whispered, “See? Life balances itself.”

In that moment, I realized: karma is not my personal lawyer. It’s not designed to heal my wounds or bring me peace. It’s not even meant to satisfy my sense of timing.

Unlike our legal system, where “justice delayed is justice denied” because victims need relief here and now, karma operates on a different plane altogether. Karma doesn’t arrive on our schedule. It doesn’t rush to fix our pain. Instead, it patiently restores balance in its own mysterious, universal way.

By the time karma acts, the raw wound has already become a scar. And when it does, it often feels like a distant echo rather than the roaring justice I once imagined.

I used to think that if karma didn’t act fast enough, it was as good as denied. But today, I see it differently. Karma is not about me; it is about the larger flow of life, the unseen balance sheet of actions and consequences that spans beyond my small circle of feelings.

Looking back, I understand now that healing was never karma’s job. Healing was mine. Karma didn’t come to save me — I had to save myself, stitch up my own wounds, and learn to walk forward carrying my scars with pride.

Those scars? They’ve taught me more than any revenge ever could. They taught me resilience, boundaries, patience, and — above all — the power of moving on.

So today, when I think about those who wronged me and finally “paid” for it, I feel nothing more than a gentle nod to the universe: Thank you for doing your part. I had already done mine.

What I’ve learned

  • Don’t wait for karma to heal you.
  • Don’t put your peace on hold waiting for someone else to fall.
  • Your healing is your responsibility; karma is just the universe keeping its own books.

In short

“Justice delayed is justice denied” is about human systems.
“Karma delayed” is not karma denied — because karma is not about providing you justice, but about cosmic balance.