Tag: resilience

Why Israel Doesn’t Fear Startup Failure — And What We Can Learn


In Israel, failure isn’t feared — it’s your startup badge of courage.

When we think of failure in India, it usually comes with a long line of unsolicited advice from relatives, worried glances from parents, and that unspoken label — “loser.” But if you zoom out to Israel, famously known as the Startup Nation, you’ll see something very different.

I’ve been diving into articles, founder interviews, and global startup reports — and one thing is crystal clear: failure isn’t just accepted in Israel, it’s almost celebrated.

In Israel, if your startup fails, people don’t write you off. They ask, “So, what’s next?” Investors don’t shy away from you; they lean in closer. It’s as if failure is your badge of honor, proof that you had the guts to play in the arena instead of watching from the sidelines.

Why? Because in Israel, they believe that if you haven’t failed, you probably haven’t aimed big enough. You didn’t push hard enough. You didn’t swing for the fences.

A huge part of this mindset comes from their military culture. Israeli youth go through mandatory army service, where experimentation, rapid problem-solving, and facing unexpected challenges are everyday routines. Mistakes aren’t punished — they’re analyzed and turned into future strategies.

Add to that a society built on survival and constant innovation. When you’re turning deserts into green farms and defending your borders every day, you learn fast that trial and error isn’t optional — it’s how you stay alive.

What really blew my mind is that many Israeli VCs actually prefer founders who have tasted failure. They believe these founders have “paid their tuition fees” and know what not to do. Imagine pitching to an investor in India after a failed venture — chances are you’ll get a lecture on “safe government jobs” instead of funding.

Israel’s startup ecosystem treats failure like a pivot, not a funeral. It’s a milestone, not a tombstone. And that’s exactly why they keep producing unicorns and game-changing technologies, even with a population smaller than some Indian cities.

As founders and dreamers, maybe it’s time we bring this “fail forward” attitude home. Because the real failure isn’t falling — it’s refusing to get back up.

Israel doesn’t bury failed startups; it recycles them into stronger founders.

When Parenting Engulfs You: My Silent Struggle Raising Two Young Kids Alone


Finding joy, even in the hardest days.

When people see a smiling parent with a child on each arm, they often think of joy, completeness, and warmth. But behind that photo, there can be stories of exhaustion, frustration, and a kind of loneliness that’s hard to describe.

From the very beginning, even before our second child was born, there were challenges. My in-laws strongly believed that having a second child was a bad idea, and they convinced my wife the same. Every time there’s an argument between us now, this topic comes back: that she didn’t fully analyze the challenges ahead. It makes me angry because, in my heart, I always believed I didn’t want to raise a single pampered child. I wanted my first child to have a sibling, a lifelong companion. This decision was never just about me — it was about building a family with deeper bonds, even if it meant going through harder days.

From the day my second child was born, life changed completely. We had no support system. No parents or in-laws stepping in to help, no extended family to call on, no trusted house help to share the load. It was just us, and every day felt like a survival mission.

People often say, “it takes a village to raise a child.” With my first child, I had that village. My in-laws supported us, and those memories felt like heaven — a beautiful, light-filled chapter of parenting. But with my second child, that village was gone. I became everything: the caretaker, the cook, the cleaner, the comforter, the entertainer, the teacher. From sleepless nights to endless school preparations, every moment demanded my full energy and presence.

In the process, my professional life took a huge hit. I went into procrastination because of constant mind fog. Work deadlines felt heavier, focus slipped away, and important opportunities quietly passed me by. My business struggled, and while outsiders only saw the missed targets and failures, they didn’t see the mental battles and emotional exhaustion that led me there.

At home, the constant focus on the kids created a silent gap with my spouse. Conversations turned into pure logistics: who would handle which meltdown. The small, loving moments that kept our bond alive quietly faded, replaced by stress and quiet resentment.

Yet despite all the anxiety, frustration, and helplessness, I cherished every moment with my second child. Even in the chaos, I found joy. I built precious memories, laughed through exhaustion, and watched my child grow closely every single day. It truly felt like a heaven inside a hell — beautiful moments glowing in the middle of struggle and darkness.

With support, those years could have been even better, perhaps closer to the lightness I experienced with my first child. But despite everything, I wouldn’t trade those moments for anything.

Parenting is beautiful, but when done alone and without support, it can swallow you whole. If you’re going through this, I want you to know: you’re not alone. You deserve understanding, you deserve support, and you deserve to cherish those beautiful moments without the heavy weight of judgment.

When My World Shrunk to a Hospital Room: A Caregiver’s Silent Battle


Between 2012 and 2014, my entire world was confined to a hospital room. My father was in and out of coma during that time, and I practically lived in the hospital. Life outside those walls felt distant and almost unreal. Festivals came and went, and though friends called and offered support, I just couldn’t engage with them. I didn’t have the emotional space or words to share what I was really feeling.

I wasn’t just taking care of my father; I was battling intense anxiety, frustration, and helplessness every single day. I questioned everything from the doctors’ advice, the treatment decisions, my own ability to handle the situation. I felt like I was stuck in a loop, hoping for a sign of improvement, fearing the worst with every passing hour.

This is a state known as caregiver burnout, where your mind and body are pushed to the edge by constant stress and emotional weight. You run on autopilot, trying to stay strong for your loved one, while inside you feel like you’re drowning.

It took me a long time to process those years and find a sense of normalcy again. To learn that it was okay to step away for a moment, to accept help, and to acknowledge my own emotions without guilt.

If you’re in a similar situation, please remember: your feelings are valid. You’re not alone in your anxiety and helplessness. Take moments for yourself, reach out for support, and know that it’s okay to take care of yourself too.

Sixteen Years Underground


I walked through the darkness alone, not to escape the past, but to reclaim my future.

In the early 2000s, I built a life from scratch, brick by brick, hour by hour.
While others partied and dreamed, I worked.
20-hour days. No shortcuts. No favours.
By 2004, the tide had turned in my favour.

I had a growing business.
I had a beautiful woman by my side.
I had the pride of building something real, something enviable.

From the outside, life looked perfect.
Inside, I felt invincible.

Then came the collapse.

In 2008, the two people I trusted most, my partner and my lover — destroyed me.
Their affair wasn’t just a personal betrayal; it was surgical.
They pushed me out of the very company I had built.
Overnight, I lost my wealth, my name, my identity, my peace.

I was cast out! while they wore my success like a crown.

What followed wasn’t drama. It was silence.
The kind of silence where you scream, but no one hears.
Friends disappeared. Society judged.
I was labelled the loser. The discarded one.
They said he was the brain. That I was a fluke.

But I endured.
Every single day.
With nothing but grit, and a memory of what I once was.

I watched them from a distance.
Their lives looked glittering with new homes, vacations, laughter.
But time has its own justice.

A decade later, the cracks appeared.

The marriage fell apart.
The money dried up.
He spiraled into addiction.
She into loneliness.

While they scattered, I stayed still.
I had nothing left to lose and everything to rebuild.

Now, nineteen years later, I am stepping out.

Not just into light.
Into freedom.
Into peace.

I am no longer the man who lost everything.
I am the man who survived everything.

Some journeys don’t need a crowd. Just courage, time, and a quiet fire inside.