Tag: moving on

Friends in Oblivion: A Reflection on Those Mad, Beautiful Years


They say friendships are the family we choose. But sometimes, life gives us friends we never knew we needed — and takes them away just as unexpectedly.

Between 2008 and 2012, I had a circle that was nothing short of electric. We weren’t just building businesses; we were building each other.

It was a phase of wild nights and wilder dreams. Knowledge collaboration in the day, partying hard at night, getting stoned over the weekends — we did things that today sound crazy and almost unbelievable. But that madness was our glue. It detoxed us from daily business stress, kept us alive, and taught us more than any MBA ever could.

But life, as always, had its own plans.

End of 2012, I got married. My father’s sudden hospitalization soon after shattered that rhythm. One by one, the circle started breaking — some had fallouts among themselves, some quit entrepreneurship, some got into serious personal crises, others moved abroad, and a few simply withdrew into their own worlds.

Then came COVID. Financial struggles and the survival grind tightened the last few threads. I got so entangled in rebuilding my life that those friendships, once my lifeline, drifted into oblivion.

Today, I look back and wonder: What were those friendships? Why did they feel so irreplaceable? Why do they hurt to remember?

What were they really?

Those were what I now understand as situational friendships — connections born out of a specific context, a shared madness, and a common dream. We didn’t become friends because of shared childhoods or family ties, but because we shared the same burning fire in that phase of life.

We were all entrepreneurs — each of us a little broken, a little foolish, yet unshakably hopeful. We learned from each other, fought with each other, and celebrated every tiny win like it was the end of the world.

Why do they fade?

Because life is not a constant. Priorities change. Marriage, kids, health crises, business failures, relocations — all these start pulling us in different directions. Some find new tribes, some retreat into personal solitude, and some get consumed by survival.

There’s no big betrayal or dramatic end — just a quiet drifting apart. A slow fade into silence.

Do I miss them?

Every day.

I miss the impulsive midnight drives, the heated debates that went from business models to philosophical rabbit holes, the sense of belonging to a gang that truly “got it.”

But I also know that those friendships, like beautiful old songs, belong to a time and place that can’t be recreated. They were chapters meant to end, lessons meant to be carried forward, not lived on repeat.

Some friendships are like rivers — they flow into your life, shape your shores, then find their way to the sea. You can’t hold them back, but you can always feel the shape they left on your soul.

A final whisper to that gang

Wherever you all are — running a new venture, teaching your kids to ride a bicycle in Canada, or quietly reflecting on those reckless days — I hope you feel the same warmth when you think of our nights in Adambakkam.

Some friendships are meant to be wild tides — crashing, roaring, unforgettable — before they dissolve into the larger sea of life.

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.

From Wounds to Scars: A Lesson in Karma and Healing


There was a time when betrayal felt like an open wound. When someone cheated or double-crossed me, I didn’t just feel hurt, I felt an almost animalistic urge for revenge. I wanted blood. I wanted them to feel the pain I was going through.

Other times, I felt like a helpless victim. I moved away quietly, carrying my heartbreak and frustration like a heavy bag I couldn’t put down. And as I carried it, that pain slowly turned into a deep sense of anger, depression, and a silent scream that no one else could hear.

Years passed. The sharpness of those wounds dulled. They turned into scars, they are always there, but no longer bleeding. Life went on, and I learned to walk forward with those scars stitched into my story.

And then, life did something unexpected.
Within this year, two of the people who had wronged me, the very people I once wanted revenge against had finally faced the consequences of their actions. Karma, as we like to call it, had arrived.

But here’s the surprising part: it didn’t make me feel victorious. It didn’t bring me the happiness or relief I thought I’d feel a decade ago when those wounds were raw.

Instead, it felt like reading a piece of news. Just information. A passing moment of, Oh, I see. Life has its own way of balancing things out.

I realized something important in that moment:
I had outgrown my need for revenge.

Back then, revenge felt like the only closure that could heal me. But healing never really waited for karma. Healing happened inside me, as I moved forward and rebuilt myself piece by piece.

Karma didn’t come to heal me; it simply came to do its job. The person I am today is no longer the same person who once stayed up at night imagining ways to “even the score.” Today, I find peace in knowing that I survived, that I grew stronger, and that my life is no longer defined by those betrayals.

The scars? They remain. But they are no longer a source of pain, they are reminders of how far I’ve come.

If karma had arrived ten years ago, it might have felt like a victory. Today, it feels like a gentle whisper from the universe: “Keep going. You’re already free.”

Don’t wait for karma to heal you.
Don’t wait for someone else to hurt for you to move forward.

Your healing is yours — and the most powerful revenge is to build a life so full that you no longer look back waiting for justice.